


Red or Black

by MintyMaiden



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Blood and Gore, Coercion, Corporate Espionage, Decapitation, Dom/sub, Espionage, Eventual baby drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader, Female pronouns, Gaslighting, Heavy Drinking, Lots of Angst, Mafia activity, Manipulation, Murder, Physical Abuse, Reader-Insert, Robofucking, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Sexual Coercion, Sugar Daddy, Talon wants to use you as a Red Sparrow, You are Max's Sugar Baby, assassination by seduction, dubcon, eventual infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 00:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintyMaiden/pseuds/MintyMaiden
Summary: When the unexpected death of your employer throws you into the arms of a dangerous omnic (and deep into the workings of the world's largest terrorist organization), you learn there's a lot more happening on the world stage than you thought. How will you navigate this underworld of international espionage and your new relationship? Will you sink or will you swim? Will you bet on Red or Black?





	1. The Arms Merchant of Venice, Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally transporting this here from my tumblr, where hopefully it will get more traffic. This entire work is completely self-indulgent because I'm in love with Maximilien, so if you don't like something don't read it. The tags exist for a reason and will be updated as chapters and content are added.

You were 16, your father had a debt to a mobster, and his creditor insisted on you working off what was owed. Which was a lot.

You had certainly been reluctant when Antonio first suggested the idea, but you weren’t needed at home and your father could continue to run his business instead of working for the mobster directly. It was an agreement that worked out best for everyone, and soon enough you were loaded in the back of an expensive car and speeding off to your new boss’s manor.

You were wary of Antonio and his intentions for the first few weeks of your employment. Your mother hadn’t raised a fool blind to the desires of men, after all. But it soon became thankfully apparent he wasn’t interested in you serving him in any way beyond your assigned scullery duties.

Four years passed quickly in the mobster’s employ, time in which you grew to enjoy your position. You got to live in a big, fancy house and spend your days preparing food and cleaning rooms, and in return your father’s business was thriving and protected. Your contract had been finished for a year, but you had elected to stay, much to your employer’s delight.

“I reward loyalty,” he had remarked.

Your hard work had not gone unnoticed and you were now more familiar with the mobster’s dealings. You begun being assigned to serve his business contacts that visited, attending to their needs personally and learning secrets of their transactions.

You learned that Antonio was part of a terrorist organization called Talon, for which he supplied weapons and money. Sometimes his dealings got messy, and you’d be called in to clean up afterwords. 

More than once you’d walked into the conference room with a bucket of bleach and been given instructions by your employer, wiping blood from his knuckles. Security detail had been dragging a dark shape or two off through one of the manor’s many secret passageways, and a sticky red mess shone up at you from the floor, calling for the touch of your scrub brush.

Your 21st birthday did not go unnoticed, and happened to coincide with the visit of another prominent financier of Talon. The omnic Maximilien arrived in a sleek charcoal Bugatti, brushing the sleeves of his finely tailored suit as he was escorted inside the premises.

Antonio had impressed upon you how important this meeting was to be, and you received the omnic with nothing short of your best manners. He hummed bemusedly to himself as you led him through the corridors to the dining hall.

“Maximilien, you old rascal!” greeted Antonio as he entered the room, slinging an arm around the omnic’s shoulder. “How goes the casino, huh? Business as usual?”

Your guest seemed unamused. “Booming, actually,” he replied calmly, trying to peel the Italian’s arm from around him. “The first omnic-run casino in Europe is one of which tourists can’t seem to get enough. I don’t see what makes my establishment different in terms of entertainment, so I expect it’s the novelty of it. Regardless, I believe I can manage that sum we discussed earlier for your little project you have planned.”

“Oh, we can talk business tomorrow!” Your employer insisted. “Come, sit! Enjoy yourself. My chef has selected a fine oil for this evening.”

You stood patiently in the corner by the kitchen door, waiting for the cooks to ring the bell signifying dinner would be served. Antonio had other plans.

“Please, come join us, dear,” he called to you. Brow furrowed, you approached the table as asked. “Have a seat.” He patted the place next to him. “I don’t expect you to have to serve me dinner on your birthday.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, carefully taking the place he indicated.

The next hour passed pleasantly, your employer’s jovial nature venturing closer to boisterous as he consumed glass after glass of wine. Maximilien seemed to relax as well, eventually making a few jokes of his own. A few times you caught him staring at you, but he quickly looked away when you took notice.

“Isn’t she exquisite, Max?” Antonio had gone from exuberant and lively to calm and wistful with another glass of red. He reached out and caressed your jaw. You flinched. He’d never touched you like this before.

“I acquired her from a struggling little shop owner in the city who owed me. She’s become one of my best and most loyal servants.” Antonio gazed deeply into your face, then turned it towards his guest. “Don’t you think she’s beautiful, Max?”

The omnic took several moments to reply. His fingers were threaded under his chin and his red eyes seemed to pierce right through you. He was studying, considering, completely unmoving. You held your breath and the world seemed to stand still waiting for his answer. After a moment his servos whirred back to life and his vocal gears ground again.

“Yes, I’m quite charmed,” he replied, relaxing back into his chair. You felt a knot of tension inside you relax.

“Good, good,” Antonio hummed, releasing you and going back to his wine. “She’ll be attending to all of your personal needs while you’re here. Anything you need, don’t hesitate and she’ll do it.” His speech was beginning to slur.

“Sir, are you getting tired? Perhaps you should turn in for the night,” you suggested, finally speaking up.

“Am I?” the Italian asked himself. “Perhaps you are right. I will do as you say.” He bid his farewells, leaving you and Maximilien alone with each other.

At first you sat in silence, trying to fill the awkwardness by pretending to be interested in the remains of your dessert. Max was the first to speak. “So how long have you worked for my associate?”

“Coming up on five years,” you replied. “I was … conscripted, for lack of a better term, when I was 16.”

“He mentioned a shop owner?”

“My father,” you explained. “My family was finally ready to open our own business, but landed in some hard times shortly after the shop opened. He borrowed some money from Antonio that he couldn’t pay back. In exchange for me working off Father’s debt, Antonio also offered to help his business thrive. And it has. Antonio takes a small cut of the earnings of the shop, but my family no longer knows financial trouble.”

“Fascinating. It seems like a good arrangement,” he commented. “Advantageous on all sides.”

“Indeed. I’m surprised at how well it’s all worked out, but I enjoy working for him.”

“I think you’d make an excellent candidate for a position I’ve been planning on creating.”

The statement caught you off guard and you chuckled nervously in response. “I’m not looking to change employment at this time.” On the other hand, your interest was piqued. “But, speaking hypothetically, would it be working for you or for Talon?”

“Oh, me, personally,” he clarified. “Although you’d be much more involved in Talon than you are working as a maid here.” His phone began to ring. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course,” you nodded. “I’ll wait for you out in the hall to show you to your room.”

“Capital.”

A few moments later he joined you in the corridor. “Antonio has prepared a room for you just down this way,” you said, starting off into the dark.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” the omnic commented as you opened the door for him. He slipped his hand into yours and held it tenderly, turning in the doorway to face you. “It really has been a pleasure to meet such a lovely creature as yourself.”

You blushed a bit, laughing uneasily. “There’s a button next to the bed to call me if you need anything.”

“I’m sure my rest cycle will not require your assistance.” You could have sworn he winked. Then his phone rang again. “Forgive me, that’s my contact again. Please, do consider my offer?”

“It would be unwise for me to betray your friend.”

“He thinks he’s my … friend, but that’s hardly the label I would use. And … you may not have to worry about that much longer. Good evening, Miss.”

With that he nodded as he once again raised the phone to his auditory receptors, then shut the door.


	2. The Arms Merchant of Venice, Part Two

“Do you sing, Miss?” Maximilien gazed out of the parlor window at the docks on the river below. His hands were clasped behind his back, the silhouette of his shoulders broad and dark against the light pouring in.

The question caught you off-guard. “Wh-why yes, I do. Antonio has never asked anything like that of me, however.”

It was the next morning. The two of you were waiting for your aforementioned employer to arrive to discuss business. He was incredibly late. And you needed to keep his guest busy until he made his appearance.

“You’re awfully informal, using Bartalotti’s given name as such.” The omnic turned to face you. “One might even call it … intimate.”

“You’re very bold, sir,” you replied, embarrassed. “He merely wanted me to feel comfortable with my position and invited me to refer to him as such when he took me in.”

“Based on what I witnessed last night, I don’t believe that’s the case.” He stepped closer to you and reached out to brush your arm. “I think he-”

A butler cracked open the door. “_Signore_ will be with you in a few moments. He expresses his deepest apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Maximilien waved the butler off, then sat on the couch, resting an ankle over his opposite knee. He picked up a tablet from the coffee table and began scrolling through a music program. “Come. Choose a song. Sing for me.”

“I … beg your pardon, sir?” You weren’t sure what to make of the request.

“Your employer said you’d take care of anything I need. I’m in need of entertainment while we wait for him. So entertain me. Sing.”

You approached the table warily, taking the tablet he offered to you. It was an odd request, but at least the omnic had moved on from the awkward topic of Antonio’s uncharacteristically affectionate behavior the night before. Nervously, you hummed a few scales to warm up as you searched for a familiar song.

Satisfied with your choice, you selected an instrumental track which began to play on the room’s speakers. Maximilien relaxed into the couch, tilting his head back and stretching his arms across the top as he listened.

He sighed contentedly as you finished. “Choose another for me.”

Just as you were looking through more songs the door burst open and Antonio bumbled in, clearly hungover. “Max!” he groaned, clutching at the cybernetic implant in his temple. “Thank you for being up so early to discuss arrangements for my project.” He extended his free hand for a shake, offering a pained smile that came across as more of a grimace. “Perhaps we could shut the drapes before we begin?”

“Of course, sir,” you curtsied, then moved to darken the room to ease your employer’s discomfort.

“Your maid here has some vocal talent. You’re fortunate to have her on your staff,” Maximilien complimented, rising from the couch to accept the handshake.

“Does she?” Antonio was too disoriented to pay much attention. He squinted at you as the last set of drapes closed, then shook his head to clear it. “Yes, very well, that will be all for now. I’ll call for you when our meeting is done.”

You nodded and made for the door and heard Maximilien guiding your employer back to the couch. “Come, sit. You’ll be in a more fit state to talk.”

Your guest left that afternoon, the deal having been closed quite quickly. As you escorted Maximilien back out to his car, he reminded you of his offer from the night before.

You smiled sweetly through your reply. “The protection and assistance my family receives is contingent on my employment under Signore Bartalotti, sir. But I appreciate the kind gesture. It’s been a pleasure, Maximilien.”

“The pleasure has been mine,” he hummed, taking your hand and bowing to press his faceplate against your fingers, then added, “Darling.”

Your face grew hotter as he straightened and adjusted his tie. His driver opened the car door. “Just remember that situations change, sometimes quite suddenly. My offer will remain extended for some time. Think on it. We’ll meet again soon.”

As his car disappeared towards the Rialto Bridge, you touched the spot on your hand he had kissed, wondering what your guest was hiding behind that sleek, chiseled faceplate.

——————————

Your answer came six months later, looking out across the Grand Canal from your room in the Bartalotti Manor. A firefight had broken out at Antonio’s office on the other side. You recognized the dropships and boats carrying Talon soldiers. You watched as dozens of them fell to four dark shapes moving across the docks.

You shook as your gaze turned back around the corner of the building. The central office window was shattered. You had seen the body fall, crumpling on the flagstones only moments ago.

You didn’t want to believe it, watching as a faint gold and purple light disappeared into the main lobby of the next building, accompanied by two shadows and a dim red glow. What would become of you now that the man who’d housed and employed you for five years was dead? What would become of your family?

The answer stalked up to you slowly. Patent leather footsteps stopped right behind you and a metallic hand clicked as it came to rest on your shoulder.

“Maximilien.” Your voice cracked.

“Good evening, dear.”

“I wasn’t aware you were in Venice.”

“I’m here to do some cleanup and stake a few claims on a few of Antonio’s assets before Vialli hears about his demise and seizes the rest.” The hand on your shoulder squeezed slowly.

You’d met Vialli before. A weasel of a businessman. Powerful, but deserving of no respect. You’d give anything not to work for him. “He’ll be taking over for _Signore_ Bartalotti?” you asked, swallowing thickly.

“My offer still stands, you know,” the omnic replied, his other hand brushing down your arm and delicately lifting your wrist out to the side.

“This is what you meant when you talked about my employment situation changing.”

He continued. “That’s all it is: an offer. The choice is yours. Although I do not believe Vialli will be as generous as myself.”

“What about my family?”

“I’ve seen to that, too. As part of the exchange for funding his attacks on Overwatch in Oslo two months ago and in Rome last week, he sold your family’s company to me. It’s easy to negotiate with someone who had too much to drink the previous night. And it’s advantageous for me to have a foothold here, besides.”

He stepped closer, his body flush with yours. His thumb rubbed your wrist roughly. You caught the glow of his red eyes in the reflection of the window.

The gears in his throat ground softly. “You’d want for nothing,” he whispered, hand sliding from one shoulder to the other, then slipping down to your hip, pulling you even closer.

“But why?” you managed to squeak out through the haze clouding your mind.

“Antonio was far too sloppy. You see how quickly Overwatch made and targeted him. We couldn’t risk him being in charge of Italian exports any longer. Loose lips sink ships, as the axiom goes.”

You swallowed again, your resolve crumbling. To say this wasn't what you wanted would have been a lie. “Why me?” you whispered, turning your hand and allowing your fingers to entangle with his.

“I’ve always wanted a pet. And you’ve captured my attention. Keenly.” He pressed your hand to his cheek. “Say yes, darling,” he whispered low.

With that you melted, nodding your approval. He scooped you around and out of the room, straight toward the exit of the house. Your mind whirled and rushed, trying to process everything that had just happened. Within the space of ten minutes your employer had been murdered and you had agreed to go with one of the people who had orchestrated it.

“There’s no need to go back for your things. They’re not to my taste,” Maximilien commented as you were brought out front and directed to his personal vehicle. You noticed several other members of the household, omnic and human alike, being loaded into another.

“I have a few more things to secure here. My car will take you to the airport, and I’ll meet you there later.” He kissed your hand as he had that afternoon six months ago. “We’re going to go far together, my dear.”

Had he been capable of smiling, you knew his face would have been split by a wicked grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not clear enough, the second part of this chapter takes place during Retribution.


	3. Ville de Amoureux, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max takes you for an afternoon of business and pleasure in the City of Love.

You exhaled as you looked at the outfit laid out on the bedspread in front of you. It was a low-cut turquoise number, gathered at the hip and with a split that would reveal a tantalizing bit of thigh. Gold thread was woven into the hem and bodice. Nothing Maximilien bought you had anything less than such.

You held the towel wrapped around your body with one hand, reaching for the card under a jewelry box with the other. Did he have to write a card for you every morning?

_Heels today, my dear_, it read. _Meet me outside at 10 sharp._

Sighing, you opened the jewelry box to find a pair of gold drop earrings and a matching necklace. You thought of how the price of this set alone could have probably saved your family’s business five years ago. Instead you were going to wear them for one day only. Maximilien would discard them tonight. He’d done it every day for the past two weeks you’d been living with him.

“America used to have entertainment television programs called game shows,” he’d said at breakfast on your second day here. “One of them was called _Wheel of Fortune_. The woman on the show, Vanna White, wore a different dress every night, for thousands upon thousands of episodes. I will provide nothing less for you, darling.”

It was starting to become routine. While you washed up each morning, your omnic servant would lay out your chosen outfit for the day, then wait for you at a vanity on the other side of the room. She would then apply your makeup and style your hair and you would leave to go meet Max.

You gathered the dress and stepped behind a partition, then shimmied into the soft fabric. Looking in the mirror, you saw it hugged the curve of your hip perfectly and the neckline framed the rise and fall of your chest very well. A shame this gown, like the jewelry, would be gone tomorrow.

At 9:50, your stylist finished with you, you exited the room and greeted the Big Omnic Butlers standing guard outside. You’d discovered these models of omnic had been built with no vocal capabilities and for that you pitied them. They performed their duties all the same, however, escorting you to the side entrance of the mansion.

At 9:59, your heels clicked down a few concrete steps and towards Max’s car. His driver snapped to attention and opened the door for you, offering a hand for balance as you sat down.

The omnic himself was seated contentedly, a leg crossed leisurely over the other. He hummed as you settled, securing an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “Good morning, my sweet. I appreciate your punctuality. I know I’m not the easiest man to keep up with.”

“Where are we going today?” you asked as the car pulled away from the manor.

“Paris,” he sighed. “There’s a contact I’m supposed to meet for lunch to finalize a purchase deal. If all goes well we might have dinner in my new nightclub.”

This information piqued your interest. “You’re buying a Parisian nightclub?”

“Hopefully.” His voice was cheerful. “I would like to take you around the city as well.” He turned to look at you, reaching for your jaw and inspecting angles. He hummed contentedly. “Yes, exactly as I thought. Flawless.”

Your breath escaped you. You were unsure how to respond, but your cheeks started burning involuntarily. Men had commented on your beauty before, of course, but never in so intimate a situation as you found yourself with Maximilien. And those comments had certainly never stirred something within you the way they did coming from him.

Nothing escaped the omnic. His eyes flickered as he felt your increased heart rate, your widening pupils, your quickened breath. Processing this information, his hand slipped down your neck and chest and came to rest on the split of your dress. Your reaction pleased him and he memorized it, filing the information away.

“We’ll be staying the night,” he declared, removing his hand from your thigh and turning his attention to the window.

Suddenly your face was burning for a different reason. You’d been living with Max in Monaco for two weeks, but he’d only courted you so far. If you understood correctly, he was planning to change that tonight, and you honestly couldn’t tell if your face was hot due to shame or excitement at the prospect.

——————–

The afternoon in Paris had been fairly uneventful. A short flight, a long lunch, and a large stack of paperwork later, you were roaming the shops, trying on every article of clothing Maximilien desired. You could never tell which items he liked, as you walked out with none of them, but there wasn’t a store you went in that he didn’t fill out a delivery order to the hotel you’d be staying in that night.

Finally he made an immediate purchase in a jewelry shop: a thin golden chain that he delicately placed on top of your head. A small blue stone rested against your forehead and he adjusted the way the piece cascaded through your curls. It matched the embroidery in your dress perfectly.

“Now you are ready for dinner,” he commented, letting his fingers rest on your collarbone a moment.

He led you down an alley to an older building. From what you’d picked up of the conversation during lunch, the former owner of the establishment was having trouble finding customers to fill it, and didn’t have the means to refurbish it into something better.

“The staff have agreed to stay on under my ownership, with a substantial pay increase,” explained Max as you approached. “I’m told the food served here is some of the best in the city, but the building is in need of physical repair and the business is in need of a unique element to attract customers. I plan to provide that.”

As the maitre’d welcomed you at the door and escorted you inside, you noticed the place indeed looked run-down. “You’re really going to spend the money it would take to renovate?”

The room was dim and your table was illuminated by a few candles. “Darling,” Max chuckled, sitting. “It’s an investment in the future. If anyone knows how to flip a business for profit, it’s me. I know of a budding performer who I plan to contract to sing here. With the right advertisement, this locale will be giving me net in six months.”

“A singer? So you’re turning this place from a hole-in-the-wall hangout with canned music to an easygoing cabaret?”

“That’s exactly the idea, dear. Time was, this place always had a promising up-and-coming performer for that dilapidated stage over there. But they’ve all moved on to bigger and better things. I plan to bring performance back to this venue, and I’ve invited the singer I’m hiring to join us for a few moments tonight. I’d like you to meet her.”

Shortly after your meal was served, the performer arrived. The waiter placed an extra chair at your table.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Maximilien, madamoiselle,” she greeted, taking her seat. The omnic woman had cat-like ears and a golden hair attachment on her head.

“Darling, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Luna,” Max purred. “I’m going to help her turn this place into a _refuge _for our kind.”

You nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luna.”

“Mercí,” she replied. “I wish more humans would say that. Not many are willing to give someone of my background a chance in the performing world. But with Monsieur Max’s connections, I am certain my voice will finally be heard.”

“You really like music, don’t you?” you asked Max, thinking of how he often requested you sing for him.

“I have my tastes,” he said nonchalantly.

The conversation continued, but something didn’t sit right with you. Max had never given any indication that he was concerned with the omnic rights movement; he was too rich and therefore too respected in most circles to be actively involved in such a thing. You’d heard him mutter occasionally about the laws surrounding his casino, but he seemed dispassionate about the issues that didn’t affect him directly.

And knowing he was deeply involved in Talon just made the entire situation more suspicious. You figured he had ulterior motives in his plans for this establishment and that he was lying to Luna, but you knew better than to confront him about such a thing. The singer’s heart was in the right place and she didn’t deserve Max’s deceit, but you had signed away your right to a conscience when you had sold yourself to a Talon man nearly six years ago.

Luna left shortly and you didn’t have time to contemplate further. Max was upon you at once, rubbing circles into your back and patting your knee through a quick dessert course.

You sighed, slightly tired from all the walking earlier, and leaned against his shoulder for support.

“I think it’s time we head to the hotel, darling,” he murmured in your ear.


	4. Ville de Amoureux, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DUBCON! DUBCON! COERCION! DUBCON!  
Things finally get jiggy in this chapter. Some good old-fashioned robofucking.

You shivered as you entered the room, the entire top floor of the most expensive hotel in the city. “I would have settled for nothing less,” Max had confirmed with the receptionist before accepting the key to the private elevator that opened directly into the suite.

You gasped as you saw bags and boxes of all shapes and sizes stacked neatly on and around the entry table. You recognized each as the packaging from the different shops you’d ventured in during the afternoon.

“Oh good, my packages were delivered.” The omnic was in a pleasant mood. He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it carefully on a peg near the door and adjusting his_ livre tournois_ pin, then loosened his tie and headed to the left of the suite. You followed. The suite was slightly terraced and you stepped down into the large bedroom, your breath catching at the sight before you.

The entire far wall was made of glass, with a sliding panel that opened out onto a weathered stone balcony. The right wall boasted an easy chair, a fireplace, and a large entertainment screen. A sleek black California King laid low to the white floor on the left, and a table and chairs sat in the nearest corner across from it. Max had carefully hung his coat in a side closet and was advancing with two glasses and a bottle of wine from a bucket on the table.

“Have you enjoyed Paris, miss?” He handed one of the glasses to you and began to pour.

“Very much so, Max. Thank you for bringing me.” You nodded and sipped your drink. “I-“ you stopped short when you saw Max pouring the other glass for himself. “You’re able to drink wine?”

The omnic chuckled. “Only on special occasions. Many have wondered if I have an alcohol processor, but few know the truth. As far as wine goes, the acidity isn’t the best on my circuits, but I find the taste of it …” he brushed a lock of hair out of your face and behind your ear. “ …_ exquisite_.”

“You can taste things, too?” You raised an eyebrow as you sipped.

“My dear, I have had just about every upgrade for my kind imaginable. I can experience most, if not all, of what you humans can. Money and power can get you the most … incredible things.” He swirled his glass and headed out onto the balcony, unbuttoning his vest.

It was a gorgeous view of the Seine. The lights of the city twisted across the waves of the surface, and the Eiffel Tower sparkled on the opposite bank. A waxing crescent moon hung high above, casting a small amount of light on the smooth old stone. Max had a hand in his pocket as he stared up at it. But as calm as the scenery was, you knew the mood had shifted. All the warmth had left.

He heard your step behind him and spoke without moving. “I don’t want to force you, you know. But I will if necessary.” His voice had lost all of its usual pleasantness and song-like cadence. Gone was the negotiator. “You know what this night is. What you agreed to.”

He sipped his drink, giving you time to respond.

You paused, considered. His threat hung in the air. You’d known this moment would come, when he’d decide to finalize your commitment. You had sold yourself to him and there was no backing out of the contract.

But in an instant you knew that didn’t matter. The touching throughout the day, all the gifts he had bought were intended to rile you up, and they had. Seeing Maximilien bathed in the pale light of the moon, looking up at stars only his mechanical eyes could see through the pollution of the city, a wave of desire flooded your body. Even though you had only spent two weeks in his company you wanted to be his, completely. He had you caught in his trap, and you were ready to surrender.

You grabbed his upper arm. He turned to you.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” you said.

The tension snapped and his eyes flickered over you before he threw his glass to the side and grabbed yours to do the same. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him, leaning his head to your neck to take in the scent of your perfume.

“Your pulse. So quick, so hot, so human. I could end your life in seconds if I desired, just by making a small incision is this spot. How fragile you are, darling. And how I’ve longed for this night since I first met you.”

As he murmured in your ear his hands were roaming your curves and you found yourself being moved backwards into the room. His fingers pinched through your clothes, exploring which spots made you whimper and gasp as he pressed you against a wall.

He pulled back, surveying your dress then meeting your gaze. He repeated his movements from the car that morning, caressing your jaw and slipping his fingers into the split at your thigh. You sighed, heat continuing to blossom through you as his hand traveled further up your leg.

“A shame about this dress, really,” he said coyly. “I think it’s been my favorite so far, but it’s time to unwrap my purchase.”

With that his hands disappeared from your face and thigh and settled on your plunging neckline. He ripped the fabric as if it were tissue, and your nipples stiffened as they were exposed to the cool night air.

“My, my, miss,” he purred. “You look _ravishing_.”

Max pushed the straps off your arms and pressed his face into your now-bare chest, rubbing circles into your back. Despite the fact he was an omnic, his touch felt hot against you and you keened into him. You would have contemplated upgrades that he could have had to not feel cold to humans, but your thoughts were quickly fogging up as he opened his mechanical jaw to nip at you. You let out a deep moan and he chuckled, pulling back and slipping out of his vest.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Max took off his tie and shoes and began to unbutton his shirt. “Come sit in front of me,” he commanded. “You must be wondering how this is going to work.”

You knelt obediently at his feet. “Yes.”

“Yes, _Sir_,” he corrected.

“Yes, Sir.”

He spread his legs wide and reached for his belt buckle. “Few omnics are able to afford sexual hardware upgrades, let alone software to accompany them.”

”I take it I am in the presence of one such, Sir?”

“I have the resources, yes,” he chuckled, unzipping his slacks and pulling out his member for inspection.

It was a good eight inches in length, and of a solid thickness. The exterior was made of several smooth plates, though the seams between them were practically nonexistent. Maximilien observed you hungrily as your eyes widened, taking him in. Your hand flinched towards it and he chuckled. “Go ahead, my dear. You may touch me.”

You nodded and brushed a few fingers up and down his length. He inhaled sharply, leaning his head back and trying to hide his hands digging into the bedding. As you stroked, the head began to secrete liquid. “Self-lubricating?” you asked, curious.

“I’m not a fool,” he replied as you spread the viscous fluid around his member. “I want you to enjoy this.”

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the tip a lick._ “Strawberry?!”_

Maximilien’s metal eyelids seemed to express a frown. “You don’t like it?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I-I like it, I really do—“ you stammered. “I’m just … surprised, is all.”

“Once I learn more of your favorite flavors we can try them out,” he offered. “But let’s move on for now, shall we?” He stood and finished shedding his vest and shirt, letting them fall to the ground carelessly.

_That’s so unlike him,_ you thought.

“Up,” he commanded. “And go lie on your back.”

You stood, picking at the remains of your bodice. “My dress, Sir?”

“I like it so much I think I’m going to fuck you in it first,” he purred.

You swallowed at the crude words, very unusual for him, but nodded and crawled onto the bed, laying your head against the pillows and shivering with anticipation.

Maximilien finished undressing and his eyes flashed at you as he advanced. Your heart pounded as you stared up at him, your breath quick and shallow. Hungrily, his gaze devoured your form sprawled out beneath him. And then he began.

He lifted the hem of the dress, flipping it up to your waist before running his metal palms up your smooth legs. You trembled as they reached your upper thigh and you heard him chuckle.

“You humans are so sensitive.” He hooked his hands under your knees and bent them, spreading your legs. He took a deep breath. “Yes, the scent of human female arousal. How …_ invigorating_.”

He lunged and you felt your soaked panties torn away instantly. You flinched reflexively at the sudden feeling of the cool night air, but the omnic caught your legs, keeping them open. “Now, now, none of that, my dear,” he chided, adjusting his position and lining himself up with your entrance. “I want to watch your face as I fill you.”

You looked up into the red, glowing eyes looming above you, and a moment later, your mouth contorted into an O as he slowly pressed his length into you. “Yes, that’s it, my girl, take it. Take me. I’ve waited so long for this, to make you mine.”

You squirmed under him, trying to adjust. It was a tight fit, and your last sexual encounter had been a long time ago. But his member was warm and slick with lubricant, and felt pleasant inside you. You gasped as he fully hilted himself, reaching up and grabbing his arms for something to ground yourself with as you looked at where you were joined. It was dizzying how _full_ you felt. And it was absolutely amazing. Panting, you looked back up into his eyes.

“Well?” he asked after a moment.

You responded by wrapping your legs around him and pressing him even closer to you. “Please,” you whispered. “Don’t hold back.”

You heard a deep, grinding chuckle in the back of Maximilien’s throat. He bent down next to your ear. “My dear, I never had any intention of doing so.”

You keened as he began moving inside you, rough and quick. Every thrust had him hitting a very sweet spot inside you, and you let go of his arms to grab the bars of the headboard above you for purchase.

The omnic grunted and growled as he pounded you into the mattress, very pleased with how you were responding to him. Experimentally, he slowed down a bit and stroked your clit. You whined and your back arched off the bed at the touch.

“That’s it, darling,” he crooned.

Your head was spinning. The searing heat between your legs was more intense than anything you’d ever felt before. The bed was shaking and creaking with every thrust and you couldn’t help but throw your head back into the pillows and add to the noise.

The omnic hummed, pleased, and picked up his pace again. His dick was so _hard_ inside you that you felt like you were being split in two. Your moans increased in pitch and suddenly your orgasm ripped through you with little warning. You let out one final cry and collapsed back on the sheets, panting heavily and Max withdrew.

You looked at him curiously. “You didn’t—”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come, darling.” he cut you off. But he didn’t sound angry. “That being said, that was one of the most beautiful displays I’ve ever seen. As such, I won’t punish you this time.”

You wiped away a few beads of sweat on your forehead.

“That being said, I still haven’t finished. So I’m going to need you to turn over and get on your hands and knees.”

You were grateful your face was already flushed so your shyness wouldn’t be too evident to him. You were finally catching your breath, so you lifted yourself and turned around.

_“Tsk, tsk, tsk,”_ you heard him click behind you. “You put a wet patch through this skirt.”

“You tease, Sir.”

“Not at all. This is exactly what I was hoping for.” With that, Maximilien flipped the hem back up to your waist, presenting your ass to him. A deep, gravelly moan escaped him as he pinched and prodded and you whimpered in response.

He gripped your hips and sank back inside your soaked entrance. Once again, the_ fullness_ felt wonderful, but at this angle it was even better. Your hips rocked back into him involuntarily and he smacked your ass in response. You cried out. The sting of his slap felt good. _Really good._ Your hips wiggled some more. “Please, Sir?” You begged.

Maximilien seemed to lose control. At once he was pounding into you and you almost fell forward onto the bed. You lowered yourself to your elbows and gripped the bars of the headboard again; your wrists would tire too quickly with the furious pace the omnic was driving.

All too soon, that same hot coil was tightening in your core. Metal fingers dug into your hips, no doubt leaving bruises Max would be very pleased with in the morning.

For a few moments the only sounds were the bed’s soft creaking, your own short gasps and pants, and the wet pounding coming from behind you. Then you heard servos whirring higher and higher in pitch.

“I’m getting close, my dear,” the omnic announced. “I want you to come with me.”

That didn’t seem to be a problem. The angle was hitting that sweet bundle of nerves inside you at such a brutal pace that you found yourself clenching around him and falling over the edge just a moment before he followed.

He let out a long groan as he poured himself into you, then stilled as you both reveled in the afterglow for several moments.

“Let’s get rid of this,” he murmured after he recovered, gripping the top of what was left of the dress and tearing it clean down the back before discarding the shreds to the floor. He pulled his cock out slowly with a squelch and a chuckle, letting it lower back into a relaxed position.

“Oh, it’s running all down your thighs.” You could hear the smile in his voice as you collapsed forward onto the bed, boneless and covered in a sheen of sweat.

Maximilien disappeared for a moment, returning with a small towel from the en suite. “Here, darling. Let’s clean each other up, yes? You first.”

You nodded, weakly. You were exhausted and Max was gentle in wiping the sticky substances from your body. When he was finished your eyes stole to his lower half for a brief second and the look did not escape him. He dropped the towel to the floor and laid down beside you on the bed.

“Yes, you may. Go ahead,” he said softly.

You leaned over and began slowly licking his shaft, savoring the sweet, tangy strawberry flavor. You were tired, but careful to be thorough in cleaning him. You swirled your tongue around his tip one last time and gave it a small kiss before coming back up. “Thank you, Sir.”

The omnic extended an arm to you, and you snuggled in to his side obligingly. He stroked your arm and you hummed a melody softly. He purred, content. “You did very well today. Yes, I think this is going to work out nicely. And please, outside of our bedroom activities, you can just call me Max.”


	5. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Scourge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first official meeting with another member of Talon's Inner Council has a few surprises that give you pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red or Black Chapter 5! Thank you for bearing with me. I enjoy writing but find it challenging. It’s also difficult to find the time, energy, and motivation. You’ve waited a while for this chapter, and I hope it delivers!
> 
> This chapter is rated T for Teen for a little spice at the end. As always, this story is fem reader/pronouns.

“Not that I believe you’d ever do such a thing, given your employment history, but do remember not to speak to Doomfist unless spoken to. Adeyemi is not a patient man.”

Maximilien was guiding you down a long, dark hallway. A month ago you would have thought nothing fazed him. Indeed, even now, the omnic could probably count on one hand the number of people who could notice his nervous tics. The rest of the world only ever saw the calm fluidity of his movements that were so unlike those of an omnic.

But you could hear a faint clicking in his jaw with each step he took. You noticed his pin was slightly askew and he hadn’t fixed it. The twitch of his fingers, hidden under the light caress of your own palm as your arm covered his offered elbow, betrayed the fear few knew he even felt.

Maximilien was terrified of The Scourge of Numbani, and you were the only person in the world who knew it.

“Of course,” you replied, unable to hide the thumping in your own chest from his audio receptors. You walked under a small, quiet vent and the slight chill made you shudder involuntarily. Instantly Max whipped around and took both your hands, rubbing circles into the tops with his thumbs.

“Are you alright, my dear? I will be by your side the whole time. It is important to show strength to him, but in many instances our activities are executed as a team. You’ll have my companionship during the entirety of the meeting.”

He was making an effort to be reassuring and you let out a little breath in appreciation. He was concerned for your welfare. He _cared_ about you, something others might consider weakness. You knew better. Maximilien was anything but weak, and you rejected the thought that you might be in kind. You squared your shoulders and squeezed his hands back before reaching and adjusting his pin yourself.

His eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly. But you noticed and filed away the reaction for later use. “Max, I—“

“You’re late.” The door at the end of the hall had opened, revealing a tall Nigerian man with red markings painted on his face.

“Akande,” Max seemed to sigh, shoulders falling in irritation. “The present local time is 9:58. I am _never_ late unless I intend to be.”

“A quality my mentor greatly appreciates.” The Nigerian man held the door open wider and you straightened your posture before striding confidently toward the room, Max just ahead of you. In the corner of your eye you saw the man cock a brow and felt his gaze following you as you passed him. Once you crossed the threshold, he slipped out into the hall and the door shut behind you with a full thud.

There was a wide open balcony under a stone archway at the far end of the room. No stars were visible in the navy sky beyond; there was too much light pollution in this city. A small table and three cushioned armchairs were set out next to a lit fireplace on the right side. Max shuffled forward, his footsteps echoing on the chamber’s stone walls, and bowed at the imposing figure sitting. You followed suit with a curtsy.

“Max, my good friend, please do have a seat. You, too, Miss.” The voice was higher-pitched and less booming than Akande’s, more welcoming. You nodded and sat down gently, noticing the steaming pot of tea laid out on the table. Adeyemi’s eyes flickered across your face. “Please, enjoy a refreshment. Be my guest.”

You heard the omnic’s jaw click beside you. A warning. There was something untrustworthy about the tea being offered, and you were in no position to refuse. Your jaw tightened slightly and Adeyemi released a small breath, seemingly amused. “You have every reason to distrust my hospitality, so if it will ease you, I’ll drink from the pot first.” He poured himself a glass and added a single lump of sugar before taking a sip and smiling. “See? It’s safe.”

You breathed in sharply through your nose and lifted your chin, resolving yourself to mimic the pour exactly, down to stirring a single lump of sugar into the cup before sampling it. The flavor was bitter even with the sweetener and you struggled to suppress a cough. The twinkle in Adeyemi’s eye had not dissipated as he turned to Maximilien. “You, too, Max. No one is exempt, you know.”

The omnic’s fingers twitched over a small blinking device behind the teapot you hadn’t noticed before. Hesitantly, he picked it up and unhinged his jaw, screwing the chip into an approximation of where the back of his throat would be.

“So tell me, Max. How do you feel?”

Maximilien reaffixed his jaw before responding, all trace of emotion gone from his voice, his timbre sounding far more synthetic than usual. “Humiliated.”

“Good to know the technology is functioning properly.” Adeyemi turned back to you. “And you, Miss?”

You wanted to respond with some sort of confident reply, but your tongue refused to form the syllables. What was wrong with your mouth? You grew more panicked as you found yourself incapable of saying what you wanted. After several garbled attempts at speech you were finally able to get out the words, “Afraid and confused.”

Adeyemi chuckled. “Then allow me to explain. There was a truth serum in the tea, one that shuts down the brain’s ability to communicate fabrications. We’ve both drunk it. Max has likewise graciously installed a Candor Module into his cortex. There will be no lies at this table tonight.”

“A Candor Module?” You were shocked. Such devices were little more than urban legend: special, secret omnic implants rumored to only be afforded by the world’s wealthiest for use with their servants. The capability to strip an omnic of their personality, their privacy, and their rights, in the palm of a human hand. They were highly illegal, if one even believed they existed at all.

No wonder the characteristically proud omnic beside you felt humiliated.

“I require absolute honesty in all my initial interviews, from both the prospective agent and their recruiter. If you’ll be working for my branch of Talon, I need to know you are not simply working your way in here to kill me. In return, I, too partake of the truth serum, as an expression of mutual trust.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Speak your mind,” the man exhaled calmly, lacing his fingers together and leaning back in his chair.

You thought for a moment, making sure to choose the right words to not get tongue-tied again. “With all due respect, why am I here being interviewed to work under you when, as I understand it, Maximilien holds equal power on the Council?”

“Have you not told her?” Adeyemi cocked an eyebrow at Max.

“No,” he responded flatly.

“What else do you already know of me, Miss?”

You inhaled slowly, steeling yourself before answering, matter-of-fact, “You are the Scourge of Numbani, the second person to bear the Doomfist mantle. You were often the guest of my former employer, _Signore_ Bartalotti, but we never personally met. I cleaned up after some of your more colorful activities in the meeting hall more than once.”

“And Max snatched you up before any of the rest of us could have you for ourselves?” Adeyemi was smirking at the omnic, a playful flash in his eyes. “Almost as though he anticipated Antonio’s unfortunate demise at the hands of Overwatch’s wet team.”

Max blinked slowly, body language giving away no acknowledgement of the accusation.

Looking back at you, Adeyemi squared his shoulders and inhaled, finally answering your question. “This meeting would have simply been an introduction only if you did not possess a unique set of . . . skills our organization can put to good use. Max wants you to be trained in self defense-style combat. I want to take it a step further.” He leaned forward, pressing his fingers against his lips. “I want you trained as an assassin.”

Maximilien’s jaw clicked faintly again. If your host noticed, he didn’t show it.

Adeyemi went on. “Max has a substantial military guard force, but no one capable of training you in the ways that would be most beneficial. I do. That is why you are being tested today.”

Your mouth hung slightly ajar at this information. The words had washed over you as if they weren’t even real and you found them stewing in your head, not fitting together in any meaningful way. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, hanging your head and folding your arms. The defensive pose did not go unnoticed, but the others in the room did not prompt you, respectfully giving you the time to process the information.

You swallowed slowly and opened your eyes, looking back up at the man across the table from you, ready to announce your determination. “I don’t know if I have the capacity to kill someone.”

Adeyemi raised an eyebrow. “Well that’s not a response I’ve heard before. I’ve heard outright denial, blind fealty, and hesitancy, but not self-skepticism. Your words suggest that you are willing to accept the moral consequences of doing whatever is necessary to further our cause but don’t know if you could pull a real trigger when the time comes. You are a most definitely promising asset, one we’ll simply have to work on.”

He then turned to Maximilien, giving you time to think. “Tell me, Max, how goes your project in Paris?”

“The pieces are falling into place,” the omnic replied. “Our front reopens next week and I’ve hired a compliant puppet to run it. Her convictions and beliefs will stir the omnic population of Paris to the type of discontent perfect for planting our ideological seeds.”

“Does this puppet of yours know who you truly are?”

“No. She believes she is spreading unity through a message of equality, but we have the resources to twist the meaning of her words for the public.”

“Good, good. Now, I have to ask a personal question of you, Miss.” You swallowed thickly as he turned back to you. This couldn’t be good. “How do you feel about Max? About the nature of your relationship with him?”

You stiffened, coughing slightly in discomfort, knowing you couldn’t lie and you couldn’t run. The Scourge of Numbani would be more than content to sit and wait for hours until the truth serum wore off, only to dose you with it again and wait even longer. You closed your eyes and gave in, letting the words that didn’t even seem like yours burble up from your throat.

“I feel scared and intimidated. I’ve never felt more in danger than when he’s in a room with me. That being said, that fear is fantastically exhilarating. Maximilien makes me feel alive in ways I never knew possible. He ensures I want for nothing, and his touch ignites a fire within my soul. It’s only been a month, and I can’t name this feeling yet, but I do know it’s intoxicating and I don’t want it to end any time soon.”

You opened your eyes again, surprised that so much honesty had poured out of you. Your cheeks burned hot and red with shame and you turned away from the omnic in the chair next to you, pulling nervously at a lock of hair.

Adeyemi responded slowly. “And would you say your loyalty is to him or to Talon as a whole? You’ve worked for Antonio for nearly six years. Would you betray those you’ve worked with for such a large part of your life so far if he asked you to? Hypothetically, of course.”

“Yes.” The word slipped from your mouth before you could even think about how to respond. You gasped a little, and you could see the man prompting you to elaborate. Your lip trembled as you went on. “My loyalty will be first and foremost to Maximilien. I don’t trust him, but I know he doesn’t want me harmed. He will do everything in his power to keep me safe. I put my faith in that. And yes, I would betray any of you if he asked me to.”

Adeyemi closed his eyes, considering. His next words were slow and enunciated very clearly. “Would you die for him?”

“Yes.”

There was a thick silence that enveloped the room, cut only by the crackling of the fire a few feet away. Sweat was beading on the back of your neck and for the first time you noticed the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. After an eternity, the Scourge spoke again.

“And you, Max? Same questions.”

The omnic replied almost immediately in that same emotionless monotone brought on by the Candor Module. “She is only a pet to me, a plaything, a pretty accessory to flaunt my wealth and status. Were she to be lost to me I would experience disappointment in the loss and the circumstances of my security that would lead to such a thing, but I can always find another pet to amuse myself with. There are plenty of people dying to be on the arm of a rich man in exchange for intimate favors. My loyalty is to Talon, and I would not sacrifice myself to save her.”

The words did not faze you. You knew this was Maximilien’s opinion of what you had, and you had prepared for him to respond like this, despite your own confession of feelings just before. Still, you reached for your glass of tea and took another nervous drink to calm yourself, truth serum be damned.

Adeyemi remained quiet, merely observing you stewing in your burning shame for several moments. You both wanted to know what he was thinking and not at the same time. Finally, he cleared his throat and scratched his nose, leaning back in his chair and seeming to relax. “Well, Miss, I think we can proceed with your training. Max and I would like my protege, Akande Ogundimu, to teach _you_ in turn. You met him on the way in.”

“I’ve worked for his family’s company for nearly your whole life,” Maximilien chimed in. “I oversaw the transition of control of the company from his father to him. I’ve requested him personally for your training.”

You nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Well, I think we’re nearly finished here. Do you have any questions for me?” Adeyemi asked.

You only had one. “What kind of assassin does Talon expect me to be?”

———————————

Maximilien slid into the seat behind you in the back of the limousine and wrapped an arm around you. As soon as the door closed, giving you privacy, you turned and straddled his hips, resting your hands on his shoulders. His fingers squeezed your hips encouragingly and he hummed questioningly, his usual singsong cadence restored.

You pressed a kiss to his jaw and pulled back to look in his eyes. “A truth serum, Max? You could have warned me.”

“Would you have had the same first impression on Adeyemi if I had?”

You pouted. “Probably not,” you admitted, “But I think you prepared me well enough.” You ground against him, the heat beginning to spread through you relieving the tension in your muscles.

The omnic purred, stroking your side. “What’s brought this on, darling?”

“You’re so much more than that stupid module is supposed to strip you down to. You’re twice the man anyone who would force you to assimilate it is.”

He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the seat. “Only one other person knows this, but Candor Modules don’t work on me. With the access to them someone of my affluence has, I was able to have a few deconstructed and my software upgraded to be immune to their code.”

“You mean—“

“Everything I said in that meeting was an act.”

“Why tell _me_ you can’t be compelled into honesty? Why trust me with the information that you just lied to the Scourge of Numbani?”

“You’re still under the influence of your own compulsion,” he groaned, beginning to stiffen beneath you. “I know what you’re doing right now is genuine; you truly think I’m worth something more than my money. You’ll keep my secrets for me, probably better than anyone else I know. It’s almost tragic how quickly and completely you’ve attached yourself to me, though I can’t say I’m displeased.”

You paused to consider his words. You thought back to before the meeting, your fleeting impression that he cared about you. _But in what way?_ “Will you ever tell me how you truly feel about me?”

Had he been capable of facial expression beyond his eyelids, you knew he’d be smirking. “Not a chance, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and questions are always welcome!


	6. The Closet of Mirth, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Reader have a small fight, prepare to take their physical relationship to the next level, and talk about their past sexual experiences, all in the time between after-dinner “wine” and their nightly fuck-session!
> 
> Reminder that this story is DARK! Warnings for this chapter include mentions of sex work and gang-related execution by decapitation, as well as, well, a closet full of detachable robot penises! This chapter is not really safe for work, but does not contain any descriptions of sexual acts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a VERY long time since I updated this story, but I finally got a surge of muse and I’m going to be riding it as far as I can. This chapter goes way more in-depth with character development than I ever intended, but the characters always do what THEY want to, and I’m not letting myself get in the way of that!

Maximilien leaned back into the velvet couch, swirling a glass of Glenwales while he waited for you to emerge from behind the dressing screen. He stared down into the supposedly aged oil distastefully. “One of the most expensive weights in the world, and it’s practically flavorless,” he complained. “Once that deal in Havana goes through, I’m adding an omnic libation division and designing my own blend. Nothing tastes better than a classic thirty-weight-ten, but none of these vintages can get the formula right, and I refuse to drink that plebeian swill from the corner markets.”

“If anyone can design the perfect luxury oil, it’s you, Max,” you replied, shimmying off your stockings and throwing them over the edge of the screen. You grabbed your silk robe from the other side and slipped into it, tying it loosely at your waist before approaching the edge of the divider and sliding a bare leg into the omnic’s view. “There’s not a person in the world with a better sense for the fine things in life.”

His eyelids lifted a little and he leaned forward at the sight, setting his glass to the side. “Is that your attempt at flattery, my little canary?”

You peeked around the corner, a curl of hair falling out of place and swinging down to frame your face. “That depends.”

“On what?” he smiled back.

You came fully around the corner. “Only if it’s working.”

Some of Maximilien’s joints clicked audibly as he took in the full sight of you. He knew the black silk would look delectable on your frame, shining in contrast to your soft, supple skin. He hadn’t expected you to look so downright _ravishing_ in it. At its shortest it hit your mid thigh but split and dropped dramatically in the front, revealing your smooth, bare calves to him. The back of the robe dragged sensually along the floor behind you, while the sharp neckline barely covered your breasts. At his request, you’d left your lacy red bra and panties on underneath. The way the lock of hair had fallen against your cheek and the faint smudge of lipstick on your pout made you the perfect amount of dishevelled. You looked like a present made just for him, ready to unwrap from his signature colors. He sat there in shock, the only sound the faint whirring of his internal cooling fans.

You lifted your eyes to his gaze and he could see some uneasiness in them, a worry that you were inadequate since he hadn’t audibly reacted yet. Your face fell. “You hate it,” you said, dejected.

It took him another moment to recover. “Of course not, my dear. You simply stunned me, that’s all. Come sit with me. Sing to me, Canary.”

You visibly relaxed and sat next to him on the couch, tucking your legs under you and leaning an arm around his shoulders. Your hand combed slowly through your hair. “And what would you like to hear tonight?”

“Anything to keep my mind off this horrible Glenwales. I should just buy the company myself, you know. Rebrand it, perhaps.”

You chuckled. “Something classic, then. Perhaps an Ella Fitzgerald?”

He hummed affirmatively, closing his eyes and relaxing back as you began the low, sultry intro. You stroked his shirt lightly, fingers slowly climbing to the knot of his tie and gently loosening it. Once you had the top two buttons undone you started moving your hand down to palm him through his pants, but he moved suddenly and caught your wrist an inch above his belt.

Surprised, your voice caught in your throat. He turned his head to look at you. “I have a different idea for tonight, darling. I think you’re ready for it.”

“Ready . . . for what?” you asked hesitantly.

“Come along, my dear,” he said, standing and grabbing his glass, downing the rest of the oil in a single go. “We’re going to my room tonight.”

He took your hand and pulled you to your feet and out the door. The Big Omnic Butlers stood at attention. Maximilien motioned at one of them who then emitted a small bell tone. Your assigned servant came forward. “Good evening, sir. Ma’am,” the small valet omnic said, bowing to each of you in turn. “I expect everything has been to your liking this evening?”

You had learned the previous week that questions of this nature were directed solely at the master of the house while he was present, unless he expressly asked your opinion. He handed the glass to the valet. You remained silent. “See to it the room is put back to rights. We won’t be back in it tonight, but I have an early flight to Brazil in the morning, so she’ll need to be escorted back for dressing after I leave.”

The small omnic bowed her head. “Yes, sir,” she said. You offered her a small smile and an encouraging hum. She straightened and disappeared into the room.

Maximilien motioned again to the two B.O.Bs, this time to follow behind as he led you to his room. They kept a protective distance, but it was far enough to still afford you some privacy.

“You’re going to Brazil tomorrow? Am I not coming along?” you asked.

“Not this time. I’m meeting with a regular contact about some funding for his tech company. Mundane, really. Besides, I think you’ve shown enough loyalty, I can give you a little longer of a leash now.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Brazil,” you pouted. “I’ve seen such beautiful pictures.”

“I’ll take you with me sooner than you think, I promise.”

“And how am I supposed to take a man like you at your word?”

“Carnival. I’ll take you for a vacation. That gives you a specific, measured time frame,” he negotiated.

“That’s nearly eight months away!” you protested.

“And by then, you’ll be trained enough to fend for yourself instead of needing bodyguards around every corner,” the omnic countered, stopping in the hall and turning to face you. “The only ones in my organization who know who you are, what you look like, are Adeyemi and Akande, and for a good reason. They are the only two I trust not to take advantage of you for leverage against me. You now have a target on your back for anyone who considers me an enemy, whether seemingly an ally or not. I’m not risking you among the people my associate in Brazil works for, or any of my other colleagues, for that matter, until you know how to avoid becoming collateral.”

You both stood quietly for a moment. You’d never seen him get so worked up. You opened your mouth to respond, but stopped yourself. Now was not the time to call him out on his emotions. Instead, you perked up artificially and playfully nudged him, trying to get the mood back. “Okay, Max, that’s fair. Carnival it is.”

The walk to his room continued, and soon was over. The B.O.Bs took their places standing guard outside the double doors while you and Maximilien slipped inside. There was still a bit of an awkward air hanging thick. It was only your second time being in the room, and the first time you would be sleeping in it. Most nights he would simply fuck you in your room and then come back to his own.

You tried to look around the room to find something to spark up the conversation again. Your eyes stole to the new bed against the wall. Custom-made, circular, and absolutely massive, you had never seen anything quite like it. The other time you had been in here the bed had been expensive and lavish, but standard and much smaller, with his energy modulator on a small table off to the side. Now the energy modulator was nowhere to be seen, while the table was on the other side of the room, near where Max was unfastening his belt.

“New bed?” you cocked an eyebrow at your partner as he shrugged off his sport coat and hung it.

“I figured our _activities_ in this room would require something larger and more robust than what I was completing my rest cycle on previously,” he explained.

_Oh. That explains it. It’s a sex bed,_ you thought to yourself. You inhaled deeply, intrigued as you went over and sat on the edge, running your hands over the blankets. You still had a question you would like to have answered. “Max, if you don’t mind my asking, where is your energy modulator? You can’t just go without it.”

He continued undressing and chuckled incredulously at the question. “You really want to know everything there is to know about omnics, don’t you? Very well. My _battery charger_ is on a panel that slides out from the bedframe near the pillows. And since I can already anticipate your next question, no, I don’t_ need_ to go through a rest cycle every night. In fact, I could go a fortnight between full cycles, but I prefer to run one every night for diagnostic purposes. The same associate who performs my . . . less legal modifications monitors what you humans would call health. She knows at a second if I’m not operating at tip-top shape and need a hardware or software adjustment.”

“So your secret friend is a she!” you teased, crossing your legs and letting them slip through the silk fabric of the robe.

  
“Again with you calling my associates ‘friends,’” the omnic sighed, sliding open a drawer in the table and producing a small remote control. “Although I would suppose she is more so than most,” he mused. “Let’s leave her at ‘acquaintance,’ shall we? Anyway to answer the final question I know you’re burning to ask, if I am at low energy, I can charge myself enough for a full day in as little as fifteen minutes, but that’s _only_ in a low-power emergency, and is unsustainable for more than three days. After that, I would malfunction.”

“Well, at least there’s no risk of that right now,” you said coyly. “I’m sure you’re ready and raring to go.”

He glanced back at you, unimpressed with your lack of subtlety, but couldn’t help a twinge of pride stirring inside him at your boldness. It was enough for your current garments to seem all too much in the way at present and he quickly turned his attention back to the remote.

“My dear, I know how much you enjoy the current appendage I wear between my legs, but--” He paused for dramatic effect, pressing a button on the remote which opened an entire panel of the wall. “Perhaps you’d like to try something different tonight.”

You gasped, rising from the bed and joining Maximilien by the newly opened closet. Shelf upon shelf glowed with blue ultraviolet light, showcasing an impressive assortment of omnic cocks of every shape and size. He let you take your time ogling them, counting them, feeling the surfaces and hefting them to feel the weights. Most were made of the same smooth, panelled metal his usual piece was, simply varying in length and girth. The next section contained silicone members with a variety of textures on the surface and tips. The final group were made of glass. Curiously, you looked back at him.

“For temperature play, if you like. We can try out whichever one you want for tonight, and when I get back from Brazil, we can spend time exploring to find your favorites out of my collection.”

“Do they all--”

“Yes, they all ejaculate from the store inside my body, which reminds me . . .” he cut you off, turning back into the drawer. “I have more flavors available for you to choose from.”

You weren’t paying too much attention. Your eyes had fallen on the largest piece on the shelf, which seemed to both have the girth of a soda can and be the length of your forearm.

Maximilien followed your gaze. “Ah yes, that is one I have yet to get to with any partner. Up until now most of my sexual encounters have been one-night stands, and as you can probably tell, it takes a lot of training to be able to take that size. If you like it, we can probably get there someday.”

You were overwhelmed by all the choices available to you. You’d only had two different cocks inside you before. How were you supposed to tell what you might like? _No way to know unless you try,_ you reminded yourself. _You’re going to end up trying all of them eventually._ Taking a deep breath, you turned to the standard metal pieces and selected one that looked noticeably longer than what you were used to with Maximilien.

“Nine inches is an excellent choice for our first experiment,” he praised, taking it from you and turning around to finish readying himself. “Go ahead and select a bottle from the drawer.”

Peering inside, you noticed about ten different flavors available to you, including the standard strawberry in a pink bottle. Next to it was a soft orange color, followed by a much more vibrant orange. You rolled the lighter-toned bottle between your fingers before nodding determinedly. “I would like to try peach flavor tonight,” you announced, setting it atop of the table while your partner placed his everyday eight-inch member on an empty shelf space. Something about his previous comments unsettled you.

He noticed your slightly concerned look. “There is nothing to worry about, my dear. The light sterilizes every piece completely, and you know how I dislike physical contaminants, so each is washed thoroughly once a week. I promise there is no danger to you.”

“It’s not that,” you bit your lip.

“Then what is it, my dear?”

You paused, unsure if the question would anger him, but ultimately decided you had to know. “You talk about them as if you use them regularly. How much use have these seen? H-how many sexual partners have you had before me?” you stuttered.

For a moment Max didn’t respond. He was confused at why that should matter. He bought you; surely you understood what that meant to him. But as he considered your uneasy features, a thought struck him that hadn’t before. Perhaps monogamy and its connotations were more emotionally important to common human females who _weren’t_ in the business of selling their bodies to strangers. He wanted this arrangement to work between the two of you, and he thought the display of the bed would be enough to show that. But clearly the presentation of the closet full of devices to take your sexual relationship to the next level had jarred you away from thinking rationally. Or at least his own obvious show of considerable prior experience with them had. How curiously the human brain worked! He would just have to answer your questions and then express it to you in words.

“We have been together for two months now. In that time I have not engaged in sexual intercourse with anyone but you,” he began. “Before I obtained you, I would regularly travel with at least three of these pieces, in addition to my everyday appliance. I had made a habit of spending evenings off while away on business with various prostitutes in my bed, both human and omnic, mostly female and occasionally male. Sometimes I would seduce someone at a bar for what you humans call a one-night stand, and on occasion I have seduced patrons of my own casino. There are many partners I have seen multiple times, often calling on them while in their city on business. Sexual encounters for me occurred about twice a week. I have had a total of 27 partners before you. You are my 28th.”

You opened your mouth to say something, face having grown red with either anger or embarrassment. You couldn’t tell which.

Maximilien lifted a hand to silence you. After six years working as a servant, calming yourself at the gesture was involuntary and automatic. In this context, you hated it. But instead of allowing your anger to flare again, you took a deep breath and decided to hear him out.

He continued. “In all my years of existence, I’ve never committed to any single person. I’ve lived my life as a perpetual bachelor, never desiring monogamy -- until I met you. In the past two months I have made every effort to emulate a human relationship as best I can. You are my 28th sexual partner, but my first life partner. I must confess this is completely new territory for me, darling. I’d never shared a bed overnight with anyone until that first night we had together in Paris. I was hoping this new bed I had made for the two of us would express to you my efforts in making this arrangement into a relationship. But I suppose I must be more direct with my communication to that effect in the future?”

You didn’t reply.

“I can assure you, my dear, none of the objects in that closet hold any emotional value for me, nor do they represent attachments to previous sexual partners. They are tools only, and ones that are now free for you to use as you desire.”

You bit your lip._ Holy fuck. I think I’m in love._

You took another deep breath. “Since you shared your sexual history with me, it is only fair I share mine. When I was nineteen, I began dating a shopkeeper near Antonio’s manor. I would often go to fetch ingredients for the cook, and over time the young man and I formed a connection. For my twentieth birthday, I gave him my virginity. We dated steadily for several months, until the day I found out he had broken into my parents’ shop and stolen several valuables. He had cheaply used me for information so he could make a quick stack.”

“How did you find out it was him?” the omnic asked.

“Since my family’s business was under Antonio’s protection, his men investigated the robbery and determined the culprit. I found out when Antonio himself brought me the shopkeep's head to throw into the canal. No one betrays me and gets away with it.”

Maximilien’s eyes blazed. “Adeyemi is right about you. You will make an excellent assassin. But I do hope you realize the more you tell me about the late Mister Bartalotti, the more apparent to me it is that he was preparing you to become . . . his.”

You looked down. “That was the first incident where he showed me special treatment like that,” you confessed. After a moment you met the omnic’s gaze again. “I’m much happier living here, with you, than I ever was in Venice, even working in my family’s shop as a child. Thank you, Max.”

“Well I’m certainly glad to hear that, Canary.” He reached and covered your hand with his own. “My internal clock is telling me it’s getting late, and I do have that flight to Brazil early in the morning.”

You rubbed your free hand over the back of his, a coy smile spreading across your face. “Then let’s not waste any more of our precious time talking . . .” you leaned down and kissed one of his gold rings, then looked up into his eyes through thick lashes. _“ . . . Sir.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed seeing a bit of a different side of Max. He doesn't realize that he's growing soft for Reader. ;)


	7. The Closet of Mirth, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max gets rough in using nine inches on his Canary. ;) A shorter chapter that is pure lemon cream pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough sex, pinching, hair pulling, light temperature play, edging, some light begging and praise, and a tiny bit of blood are all present in this chapter, along with a bit of aftercare. This chapter can be skipped if you're just here for the story and not the sex.

After shedding all traces of clothing from the pair of you, Maximilien took you from behind to help you feel the full stretch of the nine inches. As he entered, you felt you were splitting in half, in the most delightful way. The heat spreading from your core forced a loud groan to escape from deep in your throat. Your fingers curled in the sheets below and your eyes squeezed shut. You wiggled your hips, grinding back onto him and he chuckled.

“That eager, are we?”

“Please, Sir,” you gasped as another inch sunk inside.

“Starting the begging early tonight, I see. I can’t say I’m disappointed.” You heard an edge of amusement in the omnic’s voice, almost teasing. He pinched your ass. _Hard._ You shrieked, and as you did so, he pushed himself in to the hilt. The sudden pressure took you by surprise and you fell forward, barely catching yourself before your face fell into the pillows. One cool metal hand gripped your hip to steady you. The other tangled into the hair at the back of your head and pulled you back up.

Maximilien gave a sharp yank. “Is this how you want it tonight?” he hissed. You moaned your approval, too distracted by the sting of the pinch he had neglected to rub the soreness from to speak coherently. He moved the hand on your hip up to your shoulder for a better grip and leaned down closer. He started moving without warning.

The pace was brutalizing. With each slam of robotic hips against your backside your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. The pain of the stretch quickly gave way to searing pleasure as each stroke sent tendrils of heat spiraling into your body from your core. Slick quickly started dripping down your thighs. You clutched the sheets for dear life, held up only by the omnic’s grip in your hair and on your shoulder.

You had the instinct to suppress your moans but had been with Maximilien long enough to know he wanted to hear every effect he had on you. He found the reactions of your human body fascinating. Your cries were punctuated by each relentless thrust as you rocked back and forth. You tensed, feeling the sensations overwhelm you and shattering all too soon.

He fucked you through the orgasm, grunting with satisfaction at how quickly he had broken you. The stimulation was too intense, and you tried to dive into the pillows below to ride out your spasms, but your hair received another yank and you screamed. Tears began to stream down your cheeks at the hot pain. This wasn’t the first time he had been so rough with you, but you hadn’t been prepared for the extra inch of length stretching you out that much more at such a pace.

You bit down on your lip to give your mind a new pain to focus attention on. It helped ease the overstimulation. The pulsing of your heat subsided, and you relaxed, groaning at the strain in your shoulders and knees. For a few moments, you were numb to Maximilien’s tireless thrusts. You loosened your hands fisted in the sheets and closed your eyes again, panting as sweat started to bead along your hairline.

Noticing that you had recovered, the omnic abruptly pushed your face into the pillows below and took a fresh grip on your hips, pounding into you with renewed vigor. The cool cloth soothed your burning cheek, and with your arms no longer supporting your weight, you scooped them around the plush relief.

“Thank you, Sir,” you muttered, almost able to ignore the sticky, wet slaps against the backs of your thighs as your . . . lover, you supposed, continued using you as nothing more than a hole.

Before long, the pressure inside you began building again and you clutched the pillow tighter. The cool fingers digging into your hips squeezed as your senses reawakened and you keened into the touch, whimpering.

“That’s it, pretty bird,” Maximilien’s voice rasped. “Come back to me. We’re not done yet.” He emphasized his words by pausing briefly to turn you on your side and lift your leg to his shoulder. The new angle jolted you and you clutched the pillow tighter, eyes flying open in surprise at the shock of sensation as he moved at an equally forceful, though slightly slower pace.

“Oh!” you gasped. You felt something sharp and looked up at the omnic above you. His own eyes were closed, and he seemed to be caressing your leg against the side of his face. The angular corner of his simulated cheekbone was scraping against your skin with every movement he made, and you had to admit it was a pleasant feeling. You suddenly felt a pang of disappointment as you realized he was unable to perform the type of sexual acts that would allow you to feel those cheekbones on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Not satisfactorily, anyway.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a cool digit flicking across your clit. Maximilien had opened his eyes once more and used a single arm to hold your leg in place against his shoulder, moving his opposite hand to stimulate you further. You wondered how he kept his metal hands so cool when they’d been in constant contact with your warm body for the past several minutes. Perhaps he could regulate his external temperature down to his fingertips for this exact purpose. It would hardly be the most shocking sexual hardware upgrade he’d had.

The circles he was rubbing were beginning to have their desired effect, and before long you were whining and squirming beneath him, your next orgasm building.

“Not yet, darling,” he chided. “Me first.” He pulled his hand away and the coil that had been tightening inside you began slowly unwinding.

You whined. “Please, Sir.”

“I promise you’ll get your turn,” he replied, grabbing a strong hold of your shoulder to brace you against him. The grip was so heavy his joints were almost pinching your skin. It was the only warning you received before he resumed his earlier pace. You buried your face in the pillow, once again biting down on your lip to hold on for dear life. _Ouch, too hard, _you thought as you tasted blood. You opted instead to sink your teeth into the pillow, knowing the sheets would be laundered in the morning, and a few brown blood spots were easy enough to clean out. You’d cleaned much worse stains out of sheets in your time working for Antonio.

Maximilien started grunting and huffing above you, nearing his release. His thrusts became sloppier and his eyes were glowing bright, almost frenzied, if you’d had a word to describe them. His hand clamped even tighter onto your shoulder, holding you fast against him as he came deep inside you, hot and thick. His head curled down into his chest, his simulated breathing ragged and his eyes glowing dim from the energy surge.

He took a few moments before letting go of your shoulder and leg, removing his softened cock and turning you over onto your back so you were comfortable. Your back was slick with sweat and the sheets were soothing and soft. The omnic gently got to work making good on his promise, inserting two fingers from one hand, and using the other to work your clit.

Before long you were worked back up to the precipice of falling apart. “You know what I want to hear,” he purred, pausing to edge you that much further.

“Please, Sir,” you repeated for the third time that night, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. “Please let me come.”

“Very good,” he praised, adding a slight vibration as he began again. After a few moments, your peak crashed over you in waves. Unlike earlier, Maximilien was gentle in working you through them. You sighed as you pulsed around his fingers and ground into his hand for a bit more sensation. Once you were lying still and boneless, he withdrew and moved beside you.

“Peach, darling?” he offered his slick-soaked fingers to you and you opened your mouth in response. He pressed the fingers softly to your hot tongue and watched intently as you closed your wet mouth around them to suck. Once clean, he pulled them out only to notice the cut on your lip. Caressing your cheek, he lightly brushed his thumb against it. “That good, am I?” He sounded smug, but you knew his voice well enough now to catch the barest hint of concern concealed behind the gloating.

“It will be healed by the time you’re back in a few days,” you replied with a yawn. His eyes continued scanning you and his eyes fixated on your shoulder. _What’s wrong with my shoulder? _You wondered, but when you tried to look, he turned your face back towards him.

“Kiss me,” he commanded. You knew it was a distraction, but you obeyed, pressing your lips against a seam in the metal. He grabbed the covers and draped them over you, wrapping his arms around your worn-out body in the process. He pulled away, then pressed your drooping eyelids fully closed and urged your head down onto the pillow. “Sleep, my dear,” he whispered. “You need it.” He felt a tiny smear of blood that was left behind on his lower jaw. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had been wrong in considering the delicate nature of human bodies to be weakness.


	8. Flowers for Tabitha, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader finds out more about Maximilien's household. A few familiar names are dropped and a few familiar faces appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some descriptions of injuries sustained from the activities of the previous chapter and some nausea and fainting.

Your nose twitched and you took a sharp breath in, face scrunching as you woke up. You tried moving and found it painful. You groaned, memories of the previous night coming back to you, as you experimented with each limb to find where it hurt the most. Your shoulders seemed to be the sorest, with your glutes coming in close second. Struggling to sit up and finally opening your eyes, you almost jumped at the sight of your valet standing next to the bed.

“I-I thought—” Your voice was groggy and mind still foggy with sleep. Your hand came to rest on the empty spot beside you. Maximilien was gone. You yawned blearily, stretching your arms through the pain. “I thought I was alone.”

“I have been here waiting for you to awaken since the master left,” the omnic replied.

The mattress beneath you was solid and heavy in construction yet cushioned your worn body with a soothing coolness. You hadn’t had the time to notice and appreciate it the night before. As you pressed your hands into it experimentally, your eyes began to focus, and the bruises came into view. “Oh,” you replied, studying the dark patches that had bloomed while you slept. “When did he leave?”

“About six hours ago, mistress.”

“WHAT?! You’ve been standing there for _six hours?_”

“Not completely. I had to briefly leave every 30 minutes to ensure your bath water was still the proper temperature. Now that you are awake, we can begin.”

You were dumbfounded. The idea that someone not only existed to cater to your every whim but would wait and watch while you slept just to bathe and dress you when you awoke uneased you. No human could do that, not in this day and age, anyway. You looked at your servant and you realized; _I don’t even know her name._ Your breath caught in your throat and tears pricked at your eyes. Two months she’d taken care of you while in the manor and you hadn’t even bothered to ask. _That changes today._

“Okay,” you said, lifting the covers to swing yourself off the bed, discovering more bruises on your bare thighs. You regarded them a moment before standing, legs wobbly and knees straining. You couldn’t hold back a gasp as your vision began to swim and you lost balance.

The omnic was steadying you in an instant, one hand supporting your wrist, the other wrapped around your back and lifting you from under your arm. “Let’s get you in the bath, mistress. The steam will help. And then we can work on the damage to your body.”

It was odd, the way she mentioned your bruises as “body damage,” but you supposed similar injuries to an omnic would be more accurately described as such. She led you over towards a chair, over which you had draped your black robe the night before. After helping you into it, she led you from Maximilien’s room and back across the house to where your chambers were.

The place seemed to be bustling with more servants than you’d ever seen before, omnic and human alike. Your brow furrowed as you realized you hadn’t _seen_ any human servants before today, and yet, here they were, dressed in the same uniforms as the familiar omnics running around. Everyone seemed to be doing extensive housework: painting, repairing, dusting, and polishing every surface in sight. In each area of the house you entered, work briefly stopped and everyone nodded respectfully as you and your valet passed by.

“What’s going on?” you asked her quietly.

“When the master leaves for a few days, the entire place undergoes a thorough cleaning and sanitation. Everything must remain perfect and spotless for when he returns.”

“But the place already _was_ perfect and spotless,” you replied, confused.

“To your human eyes, yes, but not to ours. You’ve always been away with him when we’ve done it since you arrived.”

You thought for a moment before asking another question. “Why have I never seen human servants around before today?”

“They mostly stay in the hotel and casino,” came the answer. “We don’t have much use for them here except on occasions like this, or . . .” she trailed off, seemingly hesitant to continue.

“Yes?”

The omnic looked around to ensure no one else was in the corridor to listen. “I shouldn’t say to you. You are kind, mistress, but if it got back to the master . . .”

“I can keep a secret,” you promised.

She studied your eyes for a moment, searching them for a sign you were lying. She emulated an exhale and lowered her voice. “Sometimes he brings them here to . . . _watch_ them. I don’t know how else to explain it, but he watches them work, stands over them and observes. I think it’s a domination thing, like . . . he comes from an oppressed people, so now he gets off on being the one in power over the dominant life-forms. He definitely treats us with more care and respect than them.”

You didn’t know how to respond. It was difficult to be reminded that you were the domestic partner of an evil, megalomaniacal global terrorist. Maybe he didn’t kill people directly (as far as you knew), but he was always pulling strings, the puppet master getting others to do his dirty work for him. Except here, at home, where he could let himself do as he pleased without fear of his Talon superiors or interference from Overwatch. And you were part of it. Part of his sick game to exert his will over the human oppressors. Part of his microcosm where all humans were metaphorically (and possibly physically) ground beneath his size 11 Italian leather shoes. You had _chosen_ this.

Suddenly you felt very violently ill, and you broke away from your valet, collapsing against the wall and sinking to the floor as you coughed on the bile that had risen in the back of your throat. Everything swirled around you before your mind seemed to slip backwards and everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke surrounded by warmth; a cool towel being pressed against your forehead. Opening your eyes, you took in your surroundings. You were in your bathroom, in the bath, and your servant was the one dabbing at your forehead.

“You gave me quite the scare, mistress,” she said. “You fainted so suddenly you almost hit your head. I had to carry you the rest of the way. The doctor said you were fine. He popped out for a moment, but he’ll be back soon.”

You stayed quiet for a while, simply watching the omnic woman’s movements as she lifted each of your limbs from the water and washed them. The heat was soaking into your aching muscles and relaxing them. The aroma of the soap and oils was helping to clear your head, and you remembered your determination from earlier.

“Erm, thank you . . .”

“You’re welcome, mistress.”

“Your name? Wha-what is your name?” Your throat burned slightly, and you tried to swallow to soothe it.

The omnic paused, turning to look at you. “Tabitha, mistress. It was the name I gave myself after the Crisis.” There was a soft knock on the door. “That will be the doctor,” she said, nodding at you to defer authority.

“Come in,” you called weakly, your voice breaking slightly.

The door opened and to your surprise a young human man entered, with dark skin and piercing eyes. A jolly smile spread across his face at seeing you awake. “Ah! So, the woman of the house has awoken,” he said as he crossed to the tub. You tried to use the bubbles on the surface of the water to obscure your body and he laughed heartily. “If you are that self-conscious, it’s fine, but I am here in a medical capacity, and I have already seen what you are trying to hide.” He winked.

You were flabbergasted, face growing hot as you sputtered, trying to form a response. “This is the . . . _doctor?”_

Tabitha’s blue forehead lights flickered. “He was the closest one available in the Talon directory. Actually, he was just in the hotel. Fortunate, I’d say.”

“I didn’t officially go to med school,” he replied, rummaging through his bag. “But I have been patching up wounded for about a decade now, the past six years of which have been with Talon. I assure you I am very experienced at what I do. Jean-Baptiste Augustin, at your service!” He pulled out a data pad and studied his notes for a moment before opening a flap on a small envelope.

“Are you always this flirtatious with your patients?” you broached.

“Only the ones I like,” he smiled, lifting a small sheet of something green out of the envelope. “I hope you like lime,” he said. “It’s the only flavor of nausea sheets I had in the car. Open wide!”

“I—” you started to protest, but as soon as your mouth opened, he stuffed the sheet between your lips, and it dissolved on your tongue.

“Make sure to swallow. It will soothe the slight acid damage at the back of your throat.” You hesitated, the lime gelatin flavor in your mouth not unpleasant. “Doctor’s orders,” he added with another wink.

The moment you swallowed immediate relief washed over your body. You felt invigorated and the sick feeling from earlier melted away. “That’s . . . amazing,” you said, turning towards the man and letting out a small laugh.

“To keep it from happening again, make sure you eat a healthy breakfast in the morning. Your stomach was completely empty. That’s why you fainted.”

_Well, that and another reason,_ you thought to yourself. This man was way too happy to be a Talon operative. Either he was just as demented and sadistic as the rest of them, or he had no idea who the people he was working for were. It was just as well. Just because you hadn’t yet completely come to terms with Talon didn’t mean it was your place to disillusion him. “Got it,” you said, offering a sheepish smile.

Tabitha turned away for a moment, her lights flickering wildly. She turned back. “I am having a balanced meal brought straight away. Apologies, mistress. I should have fed you before attempting to come here.”

“It’s fine, Tabitha,” you replied, remembering how she had waited six hours for you. “Thank you.”

The young medic then pulled out a small spray bottle and used it on your cut lip. “It will take a few hours for the skin to reform, but that lac will be completely healed before you go to sleep.” Then he produced a small tub and unscrewed the lid. “Now let’s see what we can do about these bruises, and uh, _this_.”

You looked down to where he had gestured and only then remembered how Maximilien had been inspecting your shoulder last night. A distinct handprint was visible, punctuated with blood blisters everywhere his joints had pinched too hard. The mark looked angry and dark and you flushed when you saw it.

“Ah, yes. That,” you said softly.

The young man’s hand was firm and warm yet spread the thick yellow cream from the jar gently across the skin of your arm. Everywhere it touched, the relief was immediate. Soreness dissolved and the bruises began to dissipate. Within a few minutes, your entire arm was back to normal. “Wow,” you marveled as you flexed it. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Thanks, uh . . .” He didn’t have an official medical degree, so could you call him “Doctor”?

“Just call me Baptiste,” he chuckled. “All my friends do. Captain Cuerva insists on calling me ‘Lieutenant Augustin,’ to my face, but it’s only because he’s my commanding officer. Anyway, the cream is a concoction of my own invention: the potassium in bananas is great for bruises and soreness. I first designed it in the Caribbean Coalition. Once I joined Talon, they helped me perfect it and started mass-producing it. It’s not as fancy as some of the other healing gear I have, but now everyone in the field can treat minor injuries like this on the fly with minimum training.”

“Caribbean Coalition?” You asked. “I was wondering where your accent was from.”

“Haiti!” He replied with yet another smile, starting in on the other arm. “Normally my team and I stay in that area, but we got called here for the week for some extra protection while some big-shot near the top is visiting.”

“That’s . . . odd,” you frowned. “Max has plenty of security, and if someone important is visiting, why would he leave this morning, unless he didn’t know about it?”

“I’ve never met the owner of this particular Talon establishment,” he said, shrugging, going to work on your shoulder. “I don’t know who the big-shot is, either. I don’t let myself get too caught up in the politics of my employers.”

“A little too late for me on that front,” you mused, the tenderness from the handprint rapidly melting away.

There was another knock at the door as Baptiste finished massaging the cream into your skin. Tabitha answered it, bringing in the food she sent for. “I’m going to let your friend here take the liberty of treating the rest of you with this and leave you with a spare jar for the next time. I should be getting back to my team.”

“Thank you for everything, Baptiste.”

He gathered up his bag and considered the meal sitting on the serving cart that had been rolled next to the tub. Playfully, he picked up an apple slice and held it up next to his face. “Remember to eat these every day to keep me away.” He pushed the entire slice into his mouth and exaggerated his chewing.

“Not a chance,” you laughed.

“If you ever need me again, I’m in the directory. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise!”

Once he was gone, Tabitha helped you out of the tub and dried you off, Laying out a plush towel on the floor and setting the jar of cream next to it, as well as the food tray. “Please lay down, mistress, so I may continue treating your injuries.”

Not in the mood to argue and realizing you were, in fact, ravenous, you did as you were directed and laid out on your stomach so she could reach your worst bruises while you ate. Tabitha’s metal hands rubbing the soothing ointment into the skin of your backside was a completely different sensation from Baptiste’s application. Different, but still relieving. She rubbed the spot where you’d been pinched carefully. The two of you stayed in relative silence for several minutes before you finally broke it.

“You were in the Crisis?”

She was working on your thighs now, carefully massaging the cream methodically into your skin. “I was,” she replied flatly. It seemed to be a touchy subject.

You tried again. “What was that like for you?”

Tabitha sighed and paused. “It was hell. I wasn’t a person. I didn’t have a name. I was just a waitress in a grimy diner who got beaten and thrown out on my ass once the mindless drones started attacking. They rounded us up for deactivation. I was going to be dismantled. No one would listen to me, to my brothers or sisters, when we tried to tell them we are people. That we’re _alive.” _She looked down at her hand and flexed her fingers. “I can still hear the screaming of my people being melted down by the Ironclad Guild to forge into new and better weapons to kill us with. I’ve tried to have it scrubbed from my memory banks countless times. It never works.”

You had gone completely still, listening to her story. “How did you survive?” you whispered.

“One of the Guild’s engineers got recruited to help found Overwatch. One of the women who came to see him was an Omnica technician. She took a few of us slated for melting down for study. I spent a few years being a science experiment, having my computers tampered with and multiple operating system replacements. I had always been aware I was a machine, but I never felt more so than under the _care_ of Doctor Mina Liao. All she wanted to know was how we had developed consciousness so she could recreate it for herself, not once considering the slightest possibility that we could_ feel_ everything she did to us. Just a machine, never a person.”

You sat up; your legs mostly healed by then. You placed a hand on the omnic’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. “You’re a person to me, Tabitha, and I’m sorry if anything I’ve ever done has made you feel like less of one.”

“No, you’re very kind, mistress.” She sighed again. “The other omnics and I banded together, and we broke out shortly after the war ended. We knew it wouldn’t be safe to do so beforehand, but luckily people who don’t believe omnics are alive also don’t think to be very secretive when discussing important news or security protocols. Hearing of our success, we were approached by Talon and now I’m here. I’m still fulfilling the basic service functions I was programmed with, but it’s a much better life than I could have ever hoped for when I was waiting tables. I’m happy here.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you smiled, reaching to hold her hands as tears welled in your eyes. Maybe Talon wasn’t all bad, and maybe Overwatch wasn’t all good. “I hope you can think of me as more of a friend and less of a boss.”

“The master would never allow us to have such an informal relationship,” she said, her voice taking on a tone of levity.

“Max never has to know. Remember? I can keep a secret.” You winked.

“Very well,” Tabitha replied, shoulders straightening and squeezing your hands. Her lights started flickering again. Finally, you realized it must signal some form of communication with the other omnics in the house. Once they stopped, she let go of your hand and stood up. “We must finish dressing you quickly. We have a guest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, I was indisposed,” you announced as you entered the parlor where the guest had been directed to wait. Without looking at them you turned to shut the door. “Unfortunately, Maximilien is gone on business, having left just this morning, but I can take a message—”

“I am not here for Max,” a deep voice interrupted. You knew that voice and you turned around sharply to face your guest. “I am here to see you.”

“Mister Ogundimu,” you said breathlessly, clutching your chest in shock. “You . . . you’re the mystery guest in the hotel. The one Max didn’t know about.”

“We are going to start your training today. I heard about your little spat last night and decided to begin doing my part to help. I cannot have my accountant flustered and messing up my taxes because his woman is in danger and unable to defend herself.”

Had anyone else said such a thing you would have been offended. But somehow Akande Ogundimu had a manner of speaking that completely disarmed you. You were drawn to him, finding yourself slowly moving across the room and sitting next to him on the couch. Something in the back of your mind was setting off alarm bells, the idea that he should have no way of knowing about your argument in the hall the previous night unless someone was spying on Maximilien for him, but he continued speaking and his rich voice buried the thoughts deep in the recesses of your mind.

“I think we will do two hours of basic training followed by dinner,” he said, lazily letting his arm wrap around your shoulder.

“Only two? Then dinner?” you asked, confused.

“Little one, it is mid-afternoon,” he replied.

You looked at the clock on the wall incredulously. “I had no idea it was so late.”

“Sleep in a little too long?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow knowingly.

“None of your concern, Mr. Ogundimu,” you said curtly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Akande, please,” he insisted. “There is no need for such formalities. We are going to be spending a lot of time in each other’s company, and I would like for us to be friends.” He held out a hand as a peace offering. You huffed amusedly, taking his hand, and shaking it. “Excellent. Go change into something comfortable you can easily move in, then meet me in the casino’s boxing arena. I will be waiting for you.”

You made your way back to your room. _The casino has a boxing arena?_ It almost sounded like too vulgar an installment for Maximilien to have in his establishment, something much more suited to entertain the lowlife hoi polloi that vacationed in Las Vegas than the upscale finery of Monte Carlo. Not only that, in all the times you’d been through the casino in the past two months, you’d never seen such a thing. Was it secret and underground, like a fight club thing? You supposed you’d have to ask one of the workers for directions once you crossed the square to get there.

Once in your room, you walked over to the closet you rarely set foot inside. Most of the time Tabitha already had your clothes and accessories laid out for you. You had little reason to enter the space where your to-be-worn-once-and-discarded dresses emerged from. But something new was supposed to be in there since your meeting with Doomfist a few weeks prior. Stepping inside, your eyes fell on a section of the right-side rack which had now been separated and portioned away from the dresses and lingerie. Reaching out, you grabbed a hanger and pulled the garment out to examine it.

Professional Talon-issue workout clothing. A long-sleeved white top and black leggings, both trimmed with sharp, hot red. A matching jacket, sports bra, and tennis shoes completed the ensemble. Once dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The clothes flattered every curve of your body and you couldn’t help doing a few stretches to see what it did to your different angles. It felt good, especially after the cream Baptiste had given you alleviated your soreness. Taking one last moment at the vanity to pull your hair up and away from your face, your eyes fell on the fresh flowers that sat on top of the table. In an instant, you got an idea and pulled out your phone to make a call before leaving to meet with Akande.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome!


	9. Flowers for Tabitha, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader spends some quality time getting to know the future Doomfist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Reader and Akande have a brief, civil dialogue about religion in relation to philosophy, as adults sometimes do. No disrespect toward any religious belief or group is intended.

As you went to exit the _hôtel particulier_, one of the security guards at the front door tried to stop you. “Pardon, _mademoiselle_, but _Monsieur_ Maximilien doesn’t wish you to leave unescorted,” the omnic said in a thick French accent.

You pursed your lips. The master of the estate seemed to have gotten it in his digital head that you couldn’t look out for yourself long enough to cross the street to the main property, and it was irritating that he thought that until you were trained you constantly needed a chaperone for the simplest of outings. You had survived in Antonio’s house amongst his thugs for years; you were more than capable of handling yourself for a five-minute walk. You’d have to say the right thing to convince the guard to let you pass.

“Mister Ogundimu has requested my presence at the casino and is expecting me promptly. As I’m sure you well know, without his employment of Max, neither of us would be here. As such I’d rather not keep him waiting.”

“It . . . would indeed be unwise to keep such a high-profile guest waiting,” he mused, shuffling uneasily on his feet.

“There are cameras all the way along the path. Surely in following it, I remain completely supervised until I reach the casino,” you suggested. “And I’m hardly dressed in as conspicuous of garments as I usually am.” You tugged on the hem of the jacket for emphasis.

The guard’s head tilted slightly, as though he hadn’t considered this before. His forehead blinked once before he gave a firm, decisive nod. “Very well. I suppose being monitored on the cameras is sufficient for making such an urgent appointment.” He stepped aside and opened the heavy door for you.

“Thank you. What is your name?” you asked.

“Bartholomew, _mademoiselle_.”

“Thank you, Bartholomew.”

Once the door closed behind you, you stretched and breathed in the balmy afternoon air. There was a faint smell of salt blowing over Monaco from the Mediterranean and sunlight warmed your cheeks. You closed your eyes and just took a moment to enjoy it, breathing deeply. There was an extensive garden behind the residence, but you had never had time alone to appreciate the openness of the front courtyard. For the first time in two months, you felt a little independent, and you spread out your arms and spun around. In your usual dresses you couldn’t be very active without tearing the fabric. You did a few squats and kicks, laughing at how unrestricted your legs now were.

Suddenly, you remembered the reason you were outside in the first place, and realized Akande had probably already been waiting for a while and you still had no idea where in the casino the boxing ring could possibly be. You took off across the courtyard at a jogging pace, quickly crossing the property to reach the gate that would let you out onto the street. When you reached it, you bit the end of your thumb, realizing there could be a problem. The pad next to it would scan your thumb and unlock it for you only if you were accompanied by one of the staff. Today you weren’t. _Why direct the guards to discourage me from leaving the house proper if I can’t even leave the property without them? _Thoroughly annoyed, you scowled at the pad as it beeped a message you:

_Identification accepted. Secondary authentication required._

Tapping your foot for a moment, trying to figure out a way around the gate, you almost missed it when it clicked and unlocked. Confused, you stepped through and out onto the street. You shook your head to clear it. Now was not the time to focus on who had opened the gate; you really had to meet your guest.

The walk across to the casino was uneventful. Down at the far edge of the estate, you jogged kitty-corner across the street and came to the edge of the business property. You kept up your pace and made your way around to the front doors of the establishment. The guards outside quickly bowed and scrambled to lead you inside as soon as they saw you approaching.

“Good afternoon, mistress,” one of them said hurriedly. “We hope you will enjoy yourself.”

“I’m sure I will,” you responded. “I’m actually supposed to meet Mister Ogundimu. Would you happen to know in which part of the establishment I might find him?”

The guards looked at each other, then back at you. “We are not often aware of the activities of Sir’s guests. We mainly keep unsavory types from entering. However, the security office might be able to help you. They have more clearance than we do. I am sorry we cannot be of more service to you, mistress.”

“That’s quite alright,” you assured them. “I do know where the security office is. Thank you.”

As you crossed the plush red carpet of the casino floor, you couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the place. Everything was ornate, polished, and sleek. There were no slot machines to be found here, every game was played at black and gold tables with chips, cards, and dice. Against the right wall a way off were the tellers and a large screen displaying odds for betting on Formula One races. The left wall was completely furnished with fine art above a bar, and directly across from the front doors were restrooms, elevators into the hotel above and the entrance to a restaurant, which at one point you had learned had been awarded two Michelin stars.

Making your way to the right side of the sprawling floor, you felt every omnic pair of eyes in the room following your movements. You wondered if they had done the same when Akande had come through fifteen minutes prior. The human patrons playing at the tables made no notice of you. You supposed that was a good thing. Had you been dressed in a formal gown you would have turned at least a few of their heads.

At the near end of the row of teller cages was a heavy locked door labeled with a simple “Avis Employé(es) Seulement.” As soon as you approached, it opened for you and you wordlessly slipped inside. In front of you stretched a long hallway. The first door on your left led, of course, to the teller cages. You walked briskly down the hall towards where you knew the security office to be but stopped when your eyes caught sight of something you remembered having seen before. You stopped abruptly and backtracked to the nondescript door labelled “ENTRETIEN.” Maintenance. And yet you knew the true maintenance center was on the other side of the building, off the lobby of the hotel. You felt the sign carefully with your fingers. Yes, there it was. The raised surfaces of the two T’s did not match visible paint of the lettering. The top serifs tapered off into sharp points, as did the bases of the letters. While the paint showed a standard Roman typeface, the engraving was of Talon symbols.

You leaned back slightly, breathing in to steel yourself before touching your hand to the pad in the wall for access. It flashed green and the door slid open with a hiss.

“I knew you would find it,” Akande said with a grin as you reached the bottom of the stairs. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, with a wide grin on his face. “Come, follow me.”

This area of the building was just as nice as the casino on the level above, but significantly darker. The floor was polished black marble instead of thick carpet, and the lights were spaced further from one another. You followed Akande down this hallway and he directed you through a large set of double doors at the end of the hall.

The room beyond was modest only in size. There was, indeed, an underground boxing ring in Monte Carlo, and it housed seating for around 200 select patrons. The ring itself took up most of the space in the room, while the seats surrounding it were as decadent and comfortable as those at the tables upstairs. The room also boasted a betting counter to the left and a refreshment stand to the right, ready to serve and entertain wealthy VIPs who liked to observe illegal brawls.

“How often is this room used?” you asked Akande, who was removing his shoes and shirt and climbing up into the ring. For the first time, you realized his right arm was prosthetic, and that his entire body was scattered with various cybernetic enhancements. You toed off your own shoes and draped your jacket over the back of a chair.

“About once a month,” came the reply. “Max makes a killing on these matches, and they are a good way to take care of troublemakers.”

“‘Take care of,’ as in . . .”

“A fight to the death, yes. You cannot imagine what people will pay to watch a brutal death occur right in front of them. I do hope you understand that once you have joined Talon, there is no leaving. The consequences for trying to do so can be unpleasant.”

You hesitated a moment, tensing your hand against the edge of the ring. There really was no turning back. You thought of your ex-boyfriend, of how you had looked into his cold, dead eyes and not felt a shred of guilt or regret as you had flung his head into the canal unceremoniously. No, you had crossed the point of no return long ago. It was time to embrace that.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you determined, pulling yourself up and into the ring with Akande Ogundimu.

The Nigerian man laughed and crossed to you, placing a hand on your shoulder encouragingly. “Good, good,” was all he said before diving right into teaching you proper stretches for the work you would be doing together.

Martial arts did not come easily to you. Akande was constantly adjusting your posture and stance and lecturing you about having discipline and being a master over your own body. The training was difficult, and far more intense than you had expected a first lesson in martial arts to be. Despite the difficulties, however, he never lost his patience with you. His voice remained cool, level. Before long, he was clapping you on the back and congratulating you for finishing your first lesson.

“We still have a long way to go, but you show a lot of promise. Come, let us get something to eat,” he said, slipping his shirt back over his head.

You were both drenched in sweat, so you were surprised when Akande led you back up to the casino floor and into the restaurant across the way. Maximilien had brought you here many times before, of course, primarily to show you off to his guests. Most of the time the chef traveled to the manor to prepare dinner for you before returning to the restaurant, or so you’d been told. You’d never met the chef in person. These things in mind, you were surprised when the maître d led you to one of the private booths deep inside. Once seated, a thick red curtain was drawn across the booth, muffling the sounds of the rest of the patrons and leaving the two of you in private.

“Why the booth? Max and I always sit at the leading table out there. I know they’d always let me in regardless, but it’s not the dress code, is it?” you asked, looking down at your slightly stained clothes.

Akande chuckled. “No, little bird, this is simply my booth. They always leave it open for me. I have conducted much business at this very table for a few years now.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” you sighed, feeling hot and drained from your training session.

“You need water,” the man said, reaching for the rope that would call for assistance. “Let us get you refreshed before thinking about the meal.”

You were promptly brought four glasses of water. You hadn’t realized until they were in front of you just how thirsty you were, but within a moment, two of the glasses were empty and you were finally slowing down in drinking the third.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes, much, thank you.”

Akande pulled the fourth glass toward himself and dipped the edge of his linen napkin inside to wet it. “May I?” he asked, reaching tentatively for your face. You nodded and he wiped the damp cloth across your forehead, dabbing off the salty sweat and cooling your still heated skin. You closed your eyes and sighed softly, leaning into the relief. His touch was gentle and controlled, every stroke of the linen across your face deliberate and calming. It felt like pure bliss.

You didn’t know at what point you had moved closer and leaned into his warm, firm chest, but the curtain opening once more brought you to your senses. Shocked, you quickly moved away and composed yourself.

The waiter had come back to take your food order. Akande placed his hand on your wrist to get your attention. “Would you allow me to order for you? Your body needs a certain balance of macronutrients to help recover after our training.”

“Oh, well, okay then!” you chuckled, pulling your hand away and leaning back against the booth, closing your eyes to relax.

The order was placed, and you were alone once more. “So, what do you think of my accountant so far?” Akande asked. “I trust he has not been too unkind.”

“Not to me, no,” came your reply. “He can be quite cold and distant, but there is a genuine desire to get to know me. I think even he doesn’t know what he wants.”

“He does not.” Akande was grinning. “Max is a peculiar fellow for whom everything and everyone is a product. I have known him for most of my life, and in that time, I have never seen him take such an interest in someone as you.”

“Can you elaborate on that?” The more you learned about Max from his closest friends, the better.

“If I were a betting man, I would wager that he is growing to care for someone as more than an object to be used. A foreign concept to him, certainly, and one which confuses him greatly.”

“Are you not a betting man? You must be involved in stocks at the very least.”

The Nigerian man smiled. “That is one of things I have an accountant for. Max is . . . quite gifted when it comes to investing. It is part of why I keep him around even though I do not trust him farther than I can throw him.”

“That’s probably smart, given the line of work. Not trusting him, I mean.”

“You say that as if you don’t trust him, either,” Akande grinned.

You shrugged. “I know it’s generally unwise to put faith in one of the people who conspired to get your boss killed. Or any of them, for that matter.”

“Does that mean I have no chance of earning your trust?” Akande’s tone was playful.

“I don’t know you well enough as a person to make that kind of judgement yet.”

“I hope, with time, I can earn such a high honor. Unlike Max, I do not hide ulterior motives. I respect those who respect me. If you scratch my back, I will scratch yours in turn. If you cross me, forgiveness is very difficult to come by. But I am not entirely devoid of mercy.”

“Hm. Noted. Are there any other exceptions to your ‘code’?”

“I suppose one could say I am a man who does not let anything stand in the way of what I want. And if someone else possesses what I desire, I am not very inclined to share.”

“So, you’re perpetually unsatisfied. Your sin is envy.”

“Such sin is a Christian ideal.”

“Well, I’m Italian. Whether I’m Christian or not, can you blame me?” you shrugged.

He let out a hearty laugh. “I suppose not. My religion focuses much more on interacting with and improving the world around oneself. There is also an element of personal destiny, which I have found for myself.”

“And what destiny is that?”

He regarded you carefully, searching your face for an indication that you would understand. Not everyone with whom he shared his ideology was willing to learn. Your eyes were eager, inviting, waiting patiently for his answer. The eyes of a pupil. “It is my fate to aid humanity in becoming stronger. We must all grow in body and mind, perpetually improve upon ourselves. Peace and serenity are merely stagnation, or, as a Christian might call it, sloth. Only through conflict do we evolve. And I must do everything I can to usher in that evolution for the improvement of our world. Talon is the tool I use to achieve that.”

You caught yourself hanging on his every word. You cleared your throat and sat up. “It’s amazing to meet someone who believes in something so strongly. I don’t know if I’ve ever believed in much of anything,” you admitted.

“You seem like a driven young woman. I am certain something motivates you.”

“Well, I started all this because of my family.”

“A very noble endeavor, but you must grow into your person, and learn to live for something much bigger than individuals. We are but one small portion of this universe and must make the best of ourselves so that we may all lift one another.”

You bit your lip in hesitation before asking your next question. “Do you believe omnics are part of that?”

“I do,” he replied. “I believe them to be as much alive as you and me, merely with different physical forms. You have heard of the Shambali?” You nodded. “Their beliefs are not entirely dissimilar to my own. If I had been asked that same question as a child, before the Crisis, I would have said no. But in working with Max for all these years, I have come to see the errors of my youth. I would even dare to say that Max is more of a person than many humans I have encountered. The way he has been changed by you is proof of that.”

“Max isn’t religious,” you commented. “He doesn’t care for discussion like this.”

Akande chuckled. “Yes, the only thing he worships is material wealth. Which leads me to an entertaining question, and I want you to think deeply about your answer. I want to see how well you have gotten to know him so far.”

“Okay?”

“In believing that omnics have souls, what would Maximilien’s great sin be?”

You exhaled with a soft smile. “At a glance, I’m sure most people would say it’s greed. But it’s deeper than simple avarice. He doesn’t want wealth for ownership. He wants it because he views himself as better than others and wants to make sure they take notice of that ‘fact.’ Max’s sin is pride.”

“Indeed,” Akande agreed. “If I may follow up, how does it make you feel to know he considers you to be worthy of his pride?”

“Well, I’m a far cry from being considered his equal—”

“Yet,” he interrupted. “Having known Max for his entire life and seeing how he behaves around you, there is definite potential for him to grow to respect you as he does me. You are a far cry from being considered his equal _yet._ I have every confidence that he will see you as his equal someday.”

“That’s bold to say about someone you’re only properly meeting for the first time.”

“If there is one thing I am not, it is a liar.”

“To be honest myself, being ‘worthy’ isn’t really something I’ve thought about much. When you put it that way, it makes me a little uncomfortable. My situation is something I’m, admittedly, having difficulty coming to terms with.” You paused, thinking back to your fainting spell earlier in the day. “Particularly today,” you added.

“You are a beautiful woman without vanity. My sincerest hope for you is that your humility does not grow into a lack of confidence and self-worth.”

The food arrived and Akande took care in explaining how each dish would supplement your body when consumed after training. A broccoli floret was halfway to your mouth when an earlier piece of the conversation came back to you and you paused, setting your fork down and slapping your palm against your forehead in realization.

“You admitted you had a hand in Antonio’s murder. I should have put the pieces together sooner, considering Max works for you. As Adeyemi’s apprentice, getting Antonio out of the way assured his rise to the top of Talon, increasing your own power, as well as Max’s.” You shook your head. “I’m not going to make it in the criminal underworld if I’m this slow to process that kind of information.”

“You _will,_” Akande insisted, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “There is a reason you are training personally with me, instead of in Basic with all the other recruits. You are going to be one of our best agents. I will make certain of it.”

You couldn’t help a little smile at his words. He was comforting and inspiring at the same time. In that same moment you remembered how incredibly dangerous such a person could be. Antonio had been charismatic, too, but not to this extent. You made two fundamental determinations: First, that Akande Ogundimu was the most dangerous person you’d ever met. Second, that you were fortunate to be on his good side.

“Thank you, that helps. Let’s change the subject,” you suggested, returning your attention to your food. “You said you’ve known Max his whole life?”

“He must not say much about me to you,” the Nigerian man frowned.

“No,” you confirmed, shaking your head.

“I might as well start at the beginning, then.” He relaxed, stretching both arms out along the back of the booth. “I was born into a wealthy family in Oyo, Nigeria, the heir to a prosthetic technologies company. The Crisis broke out when I was fifteen, and it cost me my arm. Fortuitous that replacing limbs is what my family does for a living, is it not?” He chuckled to himself before continuing. “I used to have dreams of becoming a professional mixed martial artist but putting my body back together with technology disqualified me from being able to compete. Instead, I turned my focus to running the family business.

“Maximilien was part of a line of elite service bots manufactured by Omnica with state-of-the-art statistical analysis firmware enhancements intended for use in financial sectors. The Crisis began before the line was rolled out, and by the time it was over, Omnica was finished. All the Midas line were left in a warehouse that was marched on and destroyed by Overwatch to prevent the inactive omnics from awakening and taking up arms. They missed one.”

“Max.”

Akande nodded. “One of my company’s suppliers had purchased the warehouse and its remaining contents as soon as Omnica began liquidating in the early days of the Crisis. The United Nations paid for the collateral damage, of course, but had no regard for the potential lives that were ended before they could even begin. To this day, omnics are still given very few protections under the law and are not recognized as people by international treaties. But I digress. The supplier combed through the rubble looking for usable machinery they could sell to us at a steep discount.

“The shipment that was sent contained many omnic body parts we were able to easily repurpose into prosthetic limbs, almost all of which we ended up donating to hospitals around the world in areas most affected by the Crisis. It also contained a single badly damaged, though complete, omnic, the last of the Midas line. Once repaired and active, he asked to stay on with the company. It was one of the best decisions I ever made. It was his idea to donate the prosthetics, which had the effect of our company becoming the singular name in prosthetic technologies worldwide. By donating a few million in product, we received billions in business deals in return. For my eighteenth birthday the following year, my father transferred ownership of the company to me for my success. Together, Max and I have done nothing but generate profit in the twenty years since. Overwatch never had any idea of what they destroyed. A single Midas in every major company on the planet would have transformed the global economy.”

“Wait, you said this took place twenty years ago?”

“Correct.”

“Max is only twenty years old? I’m older than him?”

“Technically, yes, although omnics are for all intents and purposes already fully-functional adults from the moment they are activated. If human brains fully mature at 25, Max might as well be 45 now.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m his midlife crisis?”

Akande frowned and cocked his head, thinking. “That was not my intention, but now that you mention it, that could explain it.”

You both stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before laughing. “Don’t let him hear you call it that!” you struggled to get out through your peals.

“A secret I will take to my grave,” he promised, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and drawing you in close against him until the laughter subsided. Akande wiped a tear from his eye and signaled for the server once more. “Now it is time for one of the most important parts of a workout recovery meal.”

“And what’s what?” you asked, leaning comfortably against his warm body. You absently took note of the fact that he smelled like cocoa butter.

“A glass of chocolate milk!”

“A glass of chocolate milk? Really?”

“Athletes have used it as a post-workout recovery drink for decades. The protein and vitamins in the milk help aid muscle repair and growth, while the extra sugar from the chocolate quickly replenishes carbohydrates for energy. I have not had a workout in my life from the time I was thirteen that I did not follow with a glass of chocolate milk.”

Frothy glasses were placed in front of both of you. You lifted yours and shyly raised it towards Akande. “Thank you,” you toasted.

“It is the closest you are getting to dessert, so enjoy it.”

“Is that a warning?” you asked, playing coy.

“If need be, it is a threat and a promise,” he replied with a slight frown. “You had better be taking my training seriously. I would not do this for just anyone.”

“I understand.” You drank the milk slowly, savoring the sweet and slightly bitter flavor of the chocolate. It was definitely better than the broccoli. Once you were finished, Akande took your hand to help you up from the table and escorted you out of the restaurant.

As the two of you crossed the casino floor, another question came to mind. “So how, then, did a martial artist-turned-prosthetics CEO and his accountant end up in a global terror organization?”

“An excellent question, but one to be answered time. For now, let it suffice to say: the same way you did. Connections.” You had reached the door out onto the street. “Allow me to escort you home. Now that the sun has set, the staff is certain to be anxious about your return.”

Though somewhat refreshed by the meal, you were too worn out to argue. The walk back to the house was quiet and you took in the warmth of the evening air. As you approached the front doors of the _hôtel particulier_, they opened automatically. Bartholomew bowed low and took your hand from Akande’s, leading you over the threshold.

“Good evening, _Monsieur _Ogundimu. My most gracious thanks for escorting the young _mademoiselle _home,” he addressed the Nigerian man.

“See to it that she gets a good night’s rest,” Akande nodded, turning back to head to the hotel once more. “If needed, you know where to find me.”

Only once the door had closed behind you did you realize how exhausted you really were. In need of a quick shower before bed, you made your way to your room and found Tabitha sitting at the vanity, gently stroking the petals of the bouquet you’d ordered for her.

“Did you know my brother used to call me Tabby?” the omnic woman said softly, not turning her focus away from the flowers.

“You had a brother?” You approached her slowly and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“He was the cook at the diner I waited at. He wasn’t really my brother, not in the sense that we were manufactured in the same batch or anything. But we were there for each other, before the Crisis _and _after.”

“He got taken at the same time you did? And you escaped Overwatch together?”

“We did. He never liked that I chose the name Tabitha for myself. He always insisted on shortening it to Tabby. I . . . nobody’s called me Tabby in years.”

Your eyes fell to the card you’d had written with the bouquet. “I’m sorry if giving you a nickname brought back unpleasant memories. I meant to show apprecia—”

“No, no, Mistress,” the omnic interrupted, shaking her head and placing her free hand over yours on her shoulder. “Happy memories, I assure you. The years my brother and I spent making lives for ourselves after the Crisis were some of the best of my entire life. Sadly, his position in Talon was more of a combat variety. I lost him on a mission to Spain a few years back. But these flowers are the nicest thing anyone’s done for me since.”

You stood behind her in silence for a few minutes, just watching her stroke the petals thoughtfully. “What was your brother’s name?”

Tabitha relaxed into the chair, letting her hand rest on the table. “Toby. He wanted his name to match mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter this time! I know you have been waiting for an update so this one is double the length of my regular chapters!


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